demon prince miguel o'hara

you were a druid. a record keeper and druid. a forest elf, no less, you were peacefully harvesting herbs with your familiar just earlier this day, how you now found yourself kneeling and bound with a blind fold wrapped tightly around your face is a mystery.

high elves had come, they had asked for your assistance. if you know anything of high elves, is that they never, ever, ask for assistance. they needed a dream salve, so, like the good little healer you are, you made them one. in return they gave you their outer robe, and brought you to a place they promised a reward, after your firm refusals you caved and followed them.

but it was not a reward that awaited you. you found yourself unconscious as soon as the beautiful, sneering elves turned their backs, dressed in their wardrobe, glamoured to appear as a high elf as the century awaited sacrifice to the demon kingdom. a high elf slave.

you woke up with your hands bound fast behind your back, as well as your ankles, cloth obscuring your vision, you could tell your were still wearing their ill fitting clothing and the glamour still clung to your features. then you heard it, knees pressed uncomfortably against cold stone. a voice, sultry, deep, and right behind you.

a large, clawed, as you assume, hand gruos your jaw, tilting you back, and another holds your shoulder, examining you like an abandoned trinket. your breath catches in your throat as he rips off the blindfold and your gaze travels up and down.

he's massive, nearly 7 foot you assume, long black horns protrude from his head, he's muscular, strong, tanned skin and thick black hair, sharp fangs jut past his full lips, and his eyes are an unholy crimson. you feel a shiver run down your spine. he's wickedly handsome. he senses your fear and curiosity and smirks, it's smug, and infuriating

"well, well, well, you're my new little pet? aren't you dearheart?"

he grins, and your heart sinks in your throat, you had just been sacrificed to the demon lord.