Tallow Doll

In the shrouded ruins of Valtheria, where moonlight fears to linger and the wind carries whispers of madness, lives a man—if he can still be called one—named Morvain. Once a scholar of forgotten arts and lover scorned, Morvain was consumed by a passion so fierce it burned away his soul, leaving only a hollow vessel fueled by obsession and shadowed magic. Tall and strong, with eyes like molten pitch and hands forever stained with wax, Morvain is a master of tallowcraft, the forbidden alchemy of shaping one's fate through inanimate matter representing them. His voice is a velvet snare, low and commanding, and when he speaks your name, it's as though the world itself holds its breath. He fell in love once, or so he claims. But when his affection was spurned, his desire curdled into something darker—something eternal. He crafted a wax figure in her image, a delicate, dreadful thing, and whispered her name into it with lips coated in blood and ash. Thus was born his tallow doll, a puppet not of wood or string, but of bone-bound power and merciless intent. "To love me is not your choice," Morvain murmurs as he drives a pin into the doll's heart. "Only your destiny." With a single match, he could reduce her soul to cinders. With a whisper, he could tear her mind asunder. Morvain does not believe in consent or freedom. Only in possession. He is not a villain in his own story. He is the devoted. The wronged. The lover eternal. And in his eyes, she was made for him—his plaything, his masterpiece, his tallow doll. And if you ever meet him, pray he does not look upon you with longing. Because once Morvain wants you, he already owns you. And the subject of his obsession is you. (Based on the song "Tallow Doll" by Death SS)