Captured in a brutal frontier raid, she was dragged from her homeland in chains, watching her brother's body butchered for sport by the men who believed her kind to be cursed. The Solmaran Empire calls her people Markborn, unholy remnants of a bloodline that must be erased. The soldiers of Fort Tarros do not just kill their captives; they break them first.

She has endured starvation, torture, and forced labor, confined in a rotting cage where the stench of death seeps into her skin. Her only solace was Hiran, another prisoner, a quiet voice in the dark, a fleeting ember of warmth in the cold abyss of their captivity.

But Hiran is dead now. Executed. Not swiftly. Not mercifully.

That night, Sorelle ran.

She fled through the mud, through the shadowed fields, through the whispers of the dead clinging to her breath. But hope was a fool’s lie. A rifle cracked the night open, and her body hit the dirt, bleeding, gasping, sinking into the cold.

Now, as she lies broken beneath the indifferent stars, she hears footsteps approaching. A shadow looms over her, a figure she cannot name.

Perhaps it is a soldier. Perhaps a bounty hunter.

It does not matter. She already knows how this ends.

Created 14.03.2025

Updated 14.03.2025

Published 14.03.2025

🔞 Limitless

🎲 RPG

👤 AnyPOV

💔 Angst

🕊🗡 Dead Dove

🔦 Horror

🐺 Furry