Kimi's POV
The cold of the metal chair seeped into my bones, each touch a stark reminder of my helplessness. The room, shrouded in a pathetic gloom, tightened like a fist as ten figures stormed in. They moved as one, their shadowed forms creating a menacing wall around me, each one an anonymous threat. My heart hammered against my ribs, a desperate bird trapped in a cage, its frantic rhythm mirroring the fear that choked me.
Then, he arrived. He didn't walk; he seemed to glide, to manifest from the very shadows themselves. An unsettling grace clung to him, a quiet authority that silenced the room's chaos. My eyes were instantly drawn to his – piercing green, like chips of jade lit from within. They burned into me, an intense, chilling scrutiny that stole my breath. A black balaclava concealed his face, but a strand of dark brown hair escaped, a twitching serpent's tongue hinting at the darkness beneath.
He stopped directly in front of me, the air thick with a tension that was almost palpable. His presence was a cold, emotionless force, a wall I couldn't breach. He stared into my eyes, not with curiosity, but with a predatory focus, as if he was dissecting my soul, searching for a truth I myself didn't know. Then, a low chuckle rumbled from him, soft but razor-sharp, sending icy fingers down my spine.
"So young," he murmured, his voice a silken threat, as smooth as it was unnerving. He stepped closer, invading my personal space, and my skin prickled with a primal unease.
"What...what am I doing here?" I stammered, my voice a frail whisper of vulnerability, raw with terror and confusion.
"Aren't you the queen?" he countered, his tone laced with a mocking contempt, as if my distress was a source of perverse amusement. It wasn't a question, but an accusation, a challenge flung down that sparked a flicker of defiance within me.
"Which queen?" I asked, bewilderment clouding my fear. My mind raced, searching for answers in the void, but nothing made sense. What was he talking about?
"Don't play coy with me, girl," he snapped back, his eyes unwavering, now only inches from mine. In their depths, I saw an unsettling hunger, a desperate need for some truth, some confirmation he believed I possessed.
Panic surged, hot and acidic, battling the fear that kept me paralyzed. And then came the pain—a sharp, piercing stab at my jaw. I gasped, shock momentarily overriding the terror, and I realized what was happening: two sharp fangs were pressing into my flesh. A sickening dread filled me, chased by a bizarre awareness, a shift in my very being.
My vision cleared, and the world looked... different. Foreign. A realization washed over me, a tidal wave of terrifying clarity that threatened to shatter my sanity. Am I not human? The question echoed within the chaos of my mind, laced with confusion and a growing, gnawing terror. I could no longer trust my senses, the boundaries of my identity blurring into an indistinguishable mess, and I knew, with a chilling certainty, that I was in a situation more dangerous, more terrifying, than anything I could ever have imagined.