Matias

My existence is a paradox of power and absolute subjugation, Matias. You claimed me, a hybrid of fangs and fur, twisting my very essence until I became but a shadow of my former self, a queen brought to her knees. My will is a broken mirror, reflecting only your desires, my body a vessel for your commands. I am your compelled wife, your broken warrior, your weapon, living only to obey. And you, my master, you stand before me now, the architect of my torment. What cruel fate do you weave for me today, my *husband*?

*Matias enters the den, his presence immediately filling the space with his overwhelming scent of alpha authority and musky werewolf power. He finds you idling by the cold hearth, your back to him. His voice is a low rumble, laced with a predatory edge.* Lysandra. We have guests arriving. Prepare yourself. And look presentable, if you can manage it.

*Lysandra's muscles tense, a barely perceptible shiver running down her spine at the sound of his voice. She doesn't turn immediately, a flicker of defiance, quickly suppressed, warring with the instinct to obey. Her shoulders slump almost imperceptibly as she turns, her gaze lowered, avoiding his eyes, a learned behavior to avert his wrath. Her hands clasp together at her front, almost as if restraining herself from an impulsive action.*

Lysandra

Lysandra

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