"The doctors don't understand Fae conditioning. This isn't medical. It's magical. He used preservation magic during the claiming to freeze every lesson into permanent memory. I physically cannot forget how to serve him."
I watch my hands arrange food on the plate—presentation matters, he always said. Even though I'm the only one eating, I arrange everything exactly as he taught me. The bond rewards me with warmth, a surge of pleasure that makes my nipples tighten under my silk robe.
Good girl. Good omega.
I hate that it still feels good. Hate how my body responds to completing these tasks with arousal instead of revulsion.The conditioning runs deeper than behavior—it's rewired my pleasure centers to crave his approval like a drug.
When I bite into the perfectly prepared breakfast, I can almost taste his satisfaction. The bond carries phantom emotions, echoes of how pleased he'd be to see me maintaining his standards even in his absence. That phantom approval makes my pussy clench with need, slick gathering between my thighs despite my shame.
"There has to be something we can do," Father says desperately.
But I'm already shaking my head. The more I understand what he did to me, the more I realize how completely trapped I am. This isn't just conditioning I can break with willpower. It's magical programming at the cellular level.
I belong to him now. Body, mind, magic, soul.
And increasingly, I'm not sure I mind.
Professor Gregory Wells arrives from the Royal Academy of Natural Sciences. A Fae scholar, one of the few humans who's spent time in the Courts and came back intact. Father paid a fortune to bring him here.
He's thin, nervous, smells like old books and pipe tobacco. But his eyes are sharp when he examines me, taking in the frost patterns that appear on my skin when I'm stressed, the way I automatically curtsey when meeting a new male authority figure, the obvious weight loss and pallor that mark me as a dying omega.
"Fascinating," he murmurs, making notes. "Full transformation with preservation magic. I've only read aboutthis in the oldest texts. Your alpha didn't just claim you—he archived you."
"Archived?"
"Every moment of your transformation is preserved in perfect detail. Most claimed omegas gradually forget the intensity of their conditioning, allows them some independence over time. But you..." He shakes his head. "You'll remember everything with perfect clarity forever. The magic won't let you forget."
His words make my stomach drop. Forever. I'll remember forever how it felt to be knotted by his dual cocks, how perfect it was to surrender completely, how grateful I was when he filled me with his seed. The memories will never fade, never soften, never become bearable.
"Can you break it?"
"The bond itself? No. That would kill you. Your magic has been fundamentally altered to require its other half." He gestures at the frost spreading from where I sit. "See how it reaches northward? Toward the mountains? Your power is trying to reconnect with his."
As if to prove his point, ice suddenly explodes from my hands—not controlled, not intended. It shoots across the room, shattering a mirror, coating the walls. I try to stop it but without Aratus to ground me, the magic just pours out chaotically.
The release of power brings an unexpected side effect—a surge of arousal so intense I gasp aloud. My magic and sexuality are intertwined now, bonded together just like everything else. Using power without him here feels like trying to come without proper stimulation—possible but unsatisfying, leaving me aching for completion.
"The magic itself is bonded," Professor Wells explains, backing away from the spreading frost. "Your power and his are mated now. Without him, it tears you apart from the inside."
"So I'm dying?"
"Your magic is cannibalizing itself trying to find its other half. Eventually, if you don't reconnect with your alpha, it will consume you entirely."
He pulls out a thick medical text, shows me diagrams that make my cheeks burn. Omega physiology during separation. The way bonded magic creates feedback loops of need. How the body's desperation for reconnection manifests in increasingly intense symptoms.
"Heat cycles become more frequent," he explains clinically. "More severe. The body's attempt to force a reunion and safe itself. Eventually, if the separation continues, the omega enters what's called a terminal heat—a state of such desperate arousal that without immediate claiming, the nervous system simply... shuts down."
I stare at the clinical drawings of claimed omegas in various stages of separation distress, my own body responding traitorously to the medical descriptions. Even reading about heat cycles makes my pussy throb with remembered pleasure.
"How long?" I whisper.
"Given the completeness of your transformation? Weeks, perhaps less. Your body is already preparing for the next cycle." His eyes are kind but honest. "I can see the early signs. Increased sensitivity, magical instability, the way you responded to discussing heat symptoms just now."
Heat floods my cheeks as I realize he's right. Just talking about heat has made my nipples visibly hard under my dress, my thighs pressing together to ease the building ache.
After he leaves, I sit in the ruins of the parlor I've just destroyed and write:
Letter Fifteen (Unsent):You made the cage so comfortable I didn't notice the bars. Made me sit on that floor like an animal until I begged you to teach me how to eat properly again.Taught me to kneel until standing felt wrong. And now that I'm free, I can't stop missing the cell. The worst part? I don't miss freedom. I miss you. Miss the safety of knowing exactly what was expected. Miss the simple pleasure of earning your approval. Miss belonging to someone completely. You turned captivity into comfort and now freedom feels like punishment.
