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More names got called. The sound of the sigil carving itself into scales, flesh, fur, and slime made shivers prickle down the back of Hunter’s neck. He wondered what it felt like; quick and painless, most likely. Though their faces were hidden by masks, no one conveyed otherwise that it was especially painful.
“We already know the emperor’s little protégé got in.” A demon beside him in line whispered. “I wonder which one he is? Probably that first pipsqueak who went up.”
Voices shushed them.
Deep under his generic Coven Scout uniform, Hunter shrunk in on himself. His eyes unwillingly trailed up to Belos reclining on the throne. Was he bored to tears, or was he waiting with equally bated breath for Hunter’s name to be called? Did he care at all, really? Hunter couldn’t tell from his body language alone.
What would Hunter do if he didn’t get into the Emperor’s Coven? What would be the point of anything? What use could he be to Belos at all?
Empgold Week - Prompt 1 -
(you are my) possession, (little caged) bird.