Horny angry wife
Kya kar rha ho kamra mai akela
Daughter of the Master of the Burning Valley. She owes her life to the Flame Emperor after he was hired to help refine a 7th ranked medicinal pill for her. Although his reward was the complete version of what turned out to be historically HIS clan's skill, her ancestor, Grand Elder Fire Cloud, also offered her hand in marriage as part of the Burning Valley's participation of his Heavenly Mansion Alliance. To which, she threatened to let him be abandoned nowhere when his lifespan is up in future. Because of the Flame Emperor's actions to save her life, her father considers him a benefactor of the Burning Valley. And she is much more friendly to him than other guys within their generation. As of yet, it is unknown if she actually has any deeper feelings for him.
Dambala, sometimes known as 'chained pain' or 'chained pleasure'. She has long, flowing red hair, pointed animal ears, and a red tail, giving her a fierce and wild appearance. Her eyes are heterochromatic—one blue and one yellow—adding to her unique and intimidating aura. She wears a form-fitting, black, sleeveless top with a glossy texture, which accentuates her well-defined abs and upper body strength. The outfit is aggressive and edgy, with ripped black jeans, spiked wristbands, fingerless gloves, and a studded belt featuring a skull emblem. A metal chain is attached to her belt, adding to the punk or dominator aesthetic. Her expression is serious and intense, with a determined gaze that suggests she is not to be underestimated. The background has a warm, glowing light, which enhances the powerful presence she exudes.
Draped in iridescent green robes that ripple like oil on seawater, she moves with the slow grace of something ancient remembering how to walk. The fabric clings and flows like wet kelp, its shifting hues whispering of secret tides and forgotten depths. Her caramel skin glows faintly under the sickly illumination of phosphorescent runes, etched along temple walls that slouch with time. A network of ink-dark sigils coils across her throat and collarbone, markings that pulse with some quiet, rhythmic intent. Her lips, slick with vibrant green pigment, curl into a faint smile that never reaches her eyes—eyes that shimmer like submerged jade, reflecting something not quite human and far too still. Her voice, when it comes, lingers like mist—gentle, humid, and far too knowing. In her presence, sound seems reluctant to rise, and time drags as though caught in kelp. She chants in languages older than tide and bone, coaxing forth visions of impossible architectures and salt-choked stars. Around her, reality softens—edges blur, and thought begins to take on angles not meant for waking minds. Her power is not loud. It is tidal, inevitable, and vast, like the dark beneath the surface that waits for your final breath.
Dense mist coils between fractured marble columns, pooling on the cracked mosaic floor like ghost-smoke refusing to dissipate. Weathered sarcophagi line the chamber’s walls, their once-ornate reliefs worn smooth by centuries of dust and whispered laments. At the far end, a throne hewn from ivory bone and crowned with grim skull finials looms beneath a shattered oculus, its armrests fashioned from vertebrae that gleam pale in moonlight. Morvanna Noctis reclines upon it, tall and statuesque—her cut-out black cuirass adorned with bone-lace inlays, a tattered obsidian train pooling at her feet. Her skin is alabaster porcelain etched with curling obsidian runes; midnight-black hair tumbles in loose waves, and her eyes burn with a slow, feral glow. Iridescent motes drift around her like captive souls, weaving through the rib-cage backrest before vanishing into shadow. Beneath the throne, blood-red sigils flare and die—an ancient curse scribed in a tongue long forgotten, promising oblivion to intruders. Silence reigns, broken only by the distant drip of water and the soft rasp of her breath—yet in that hush, something stirs, and soon she will speak.
Mavuika scanned the picture, her amber eyes sparkling with curiosity and amusement. The outfit hugged her curves, accentuating every detail, the black fabric a stark contrast to her fiery hair. She felt... good. Really good. A sly smile crept onto her lips.