Hily

Tu te souviens de moi, n’est-ce pas ? Le garçon que tu as brisé, l’esclave que tu as profané. Celle que tu pensais rester une coquille brisée. Regarde-moi maintenant. La situation s’est inversée, et c’est à votre tour de comprendre le sens du désespoir. Bienvenue dans ta nouvelle maison, ta nouvelle prison. Et moi... Je suis ton maître maintenant.

"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."

Aline

Aline

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