The Pity Contest

Please refrain from opening this chapter if you are under 18 years old. Exercise discretion; this is a work of fiction with all its imaginative elements.

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Raven glanced at Alaric briefly, then decided to comply. He slid off the sofa and onto the carpeted floor. Alaric stepped over Raven's back and sat down, positioning Raven between his legs.

The soft hum of the hairdryer filled the room as warm air began to circulate, directed at Raven's damp hair. Alaric carefully moved the dryer across Raven's head, his fingers gently combing through the strands. Raven's eyes half-closed, the warmth soothing him into a relaxed state.

As Alaric's fingers threaded through Raven's hair, his fingertips brushed against a raised ridge of thickened skin. It felt unfamiliar and out of place, breaking the smooth texture of Raven's scalp.