Fallen: Diabolik Spring

The person guided me through a labyrinth of corridors and hallways, their grip firm yet oddly reassuring. This path felt different, and as we moved deeper into the unknown, I counted each step in my mind, trying to map out the distance to my room. It dawned on me that I had been moved numerous times before, every transfer etching new memories of confusion and fear into my psyche.

I spotted a man lounging in Cleopatra's chair, draped only in a red towel that modestly concealed his manhood. His striking physique was lean yet powerfully built, with chiseled abs and sculpted muscles that caught the light beautifully. Tattoos adorned both of his arms, peeking out from beneath the short sleeves, hinting at a story etched into his skin. While none were visible on his chest, I couldn't help but wonder if his entire back was a canvas for more intricate designs.

As my gaze fell upon him, the dim light illuminated his features, revealing a face that held a mysterious charm. His narrow eyes, sharp and cunning, seemed to penetrate the darkness, peering intently from beneath the shadowed arch of his eyebrows. It was as if he were being caressed by the subtle glow, enhancing his enigmatic scrary presence and the sensation of small, chilled ice blocks gliding over his skin, sending shivers of coolness coursing through his body by bare naked voluptous women.

"Come," he instructed, his voice steady as he gestured toward me. I felt a surge of instinct, urging me to sidestep as if I were a ball, bouncing away in a desperate bid to evade whatever was aimed my way. The tension in the air crackled as I prepared to move.

His words echoed in my mind, urging my blood to drain away, and an oppressive, suffocating air enveloped me. It was as if the very atmosphere thickened, wrapping around my chest and making it hard to breathe, leaving me in a disorienting haze.