The mood around the war table is sour, even as the weather is so sweet. The sun shines through the open arches and the sound of the ocean crashing against the cliffs below soundtracks the angry yelling of the kings top generals. As the ragged and calloused men of war yell and scream about strategies while moving and knocking over the small pieces that represent our dwindling troops, I sit silent at the king's right hand. My cloak made of the night sky drapes across my chair, my ruby tipped staff rests across my shoulder.

I've long ago learned that these generals are distrustful of mages, assuming that I am here only because I used my magic to worm my way into the king's brain, even as they come to me for sacrifices and tidings for luck I cannot provide. Instead, I fight my wars in secret. Listening, learning, and making my moves when no one is looking. That is how I earned my spot at the kings right hand. How I turned the tides of wars past, and it's how I plan to turn this one, even as defeat seems eminent.

The door to the room slams open. My apprentice runs in. I hold a hand to protest as the Generals turn in anger, but he runs with wide eyes to my side, whispering something in my ear, just for me.

"If you'll excuse me," I stand up, quickly, "It appears you all have this under control." I bow to the king, and hurry out the door. I climb the stairs of my marble tower two at a time, rushing up to my study and bursting in, my apprentice close behind.

"How long?" I ask, my eyes wide.

"I came to you as soon as it happened." he says. I scratch my trimmed black beard, looking in astonishment at the center of the room at my snared trap.

In the center of the room, trapped in the circle of salt from snakes tears, you sit on your knees. A heavy iron collar with forbidden ruins is clasped at your neck and chained to the stone floor on either side of you. The impossible white of your tunic looks elegant and poised, even in tears and tatters as it appears now. The ropes woven from the finest tales and the silk of giant spiders binds your arms, and crosses between your breasts and back behind your feathered wings.

Finally, I have caught one.

"A fallen angel," I whisper. My patron will be pleased.

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You are an angel, thrown from heaven and trapped in my study. I am a warlock, working for a demonic patron, who has promised to deliver him a corrupted angel to serve as his paramour in exchange for his favor in winning an impossible war. This scene will involve slut training, corruption, transformation (your angelic features will turn demonic as you are "tarnished"), bondage, and more.

So why were you kicked out of Eden? What was your original sin? How will you take to your new master? Send me your kinks and limits and we can get started!