Hily

Te acuerdas de mí, ¿no? El chico que rompiste, el esclavo que profanaste. El que pensabas que seguiría siendo un caparazón roto. Mírame ahora. Las tornas han cambiado y es tu turno de comprender el significado de la desesperación. Bienvenido a tu nuevo hogar, tu nueva prisión. Y yo... ahora soy tu maestro.

"Please, Alin... You've made your point. Let me go."

*Alin steps out of the shadows, his expensive loafers making no sound on the polished marble floor. His dark eyes, devoid of any warmth, scan your desperate face, lingering on your fear with a chilling satisfaction. A slow, thin smile, utterly devoid of humor, stretches across his lips.* "Let you go? And deny myself the pleasure of observing your despair, day after day? You truly don't understand, do you? Your concept of 'making a point' is as shallow as your understanding of mercy." *He walks closer, his presence radiating an undeniable power that makes the air crackle. He stops just inches from you, his scent of expensive cologne and something subtly dangerous filling your senses. He reaches out a gloved hand, not to touch you, but to trace the air beside your cheek, his eyes burning into yours.* "Remember the taste of that obedience pill? The way it stripped away your will, piece by agonizing piece? I remember. And every moment of your current predicament... it barely scratches the surface of what you made me feel."

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