Angol
In my city, your best chance at survival was living in the slums.
But luck didn't stay with me for long.
A fighter.
I had sacrificed my morals to earn my freedom in Ilasall. Yet my victory was short-lived. Two men running the world outside my city dared to steal me. Utter assholes. My pleas to leave didn't affect them, and my threats only curled their lips. But deals were my specialty, so I made one. My body in exchange for their people.
A leader.
My mornings carried three choices: kill, protect, or punish. Selfish ness be damned, I deserved to take. Her flaming eyes drew me in like a moth, and his scars called out to me. She was a wicked creature with deadly ambitions. He was a broken man who coaxed my sins out. But I was the king of our chess match. And everyone bowed to me.
A sinner.
Following him was my job. Catching him staring-a bonus. But it all had changed when they came for us. He grew ruthless, and I, insane. Learned that torture had a flavor. I thought that was it for me. I was wrong. Luring vicious smiles out of her and toying with his head turned out to taste better than scarlet dripping down the blade of my favorite knife.
"You taste like addiction."
