"This is absolute," Zephyron said, his voice carrying that electric undertone. "You say sanctuary, everything stops. Scene ends. We talk. I don't care if we're in the middle of intimacy or discipline or play. Your safety word overrides everything."
Through the bond, I felt his certainty. His absolute commitment to my consent.
Then the text shifted to a section I hadn't expected.
Special Provisions:
Absolution Clause:
I, Zephyron, formally absolve Thalia of all actions taken while under cult conditioning. Her past does not define her worth or her place in this bond. She is forgiven—fully, completely, without reservation.
Thalia must work toward forgiving herself. Cult guilt cannot follow into our bond. Her value is inherent, not earned through suffering or penance.
The words blurred. I realized I was crying. Not the controlled tears from before—these were silent, relentless, coming from somewhere so deep I couldn't stop them.
"I can't." My voice broke around the words. "I can't just—they're dead. Twenty-seven girls. I held the blade. I spoke the words. I watched them die and I felt nothing because that's what I was trained to do, and I can't just accept absolution like it didn't happen—"
"No." His hand covered mine on the desk. Electricity sparked, grounding me. "You can't pretend it didn't happen. But you can choose to learn from it. To become someone different. To use your intelligence and your survival and your defection to prevent more deaths."
"That doesn't make it okay—"
"It doesn't have to be okay." His thumb traced across my knuckles. "It just has to be survivable. Carrying that guilt forever doesn't honor them. Using your experience to save others does."
I couldn't argue with that. Couldn't find words through the crying. He let me break, patient and steady, his hand never leaving mine.
When I could breathe again, he gestured to a blank section at the bottom of the floating text.
"Now. Tell me what you want. What you need that isn't in this contract yet."
The question paralyzed me. Want. Need. The cult had trained both concepts out of me so thoroughly that even forming the thought felt forbidden.
"I don't know," I whispered.
"Yes, you do." His voice was gentle but firm. "You know. You're just scared to say it. Try."
I stared at the blank space where my wants should appear. My mind raced through possibilities and immediately discarded them as too much, too selfish, too—
"Workshop time," I said suddenly. "I want—I want to be able to work on projects. When I'm not in Little space. When my brain needs to solve problems."
"Done." Text appeared in the blank section, glowing softly. "What else?"
"Stories." The word came out small. "At bedtime. In the nursery. I want—I want someone to read to me. Like I'm actually a child instead of just regressing temporarily."
"Added." More text bloomed. "Keep going."
"Patience." My voice was shaking now. "When I regress unexpectedly. When the conditioning takes over and I revert to High Priestess mode without meaning to. I want—I need you to be patient. To help me find my way back instead of getting angry that I'm broken."
Through the bond, I felt his response. Warmth. Understanding. Fierce protectiveness.
"You're not broken," he said quietly. "You're healing. There's a difference. But yes. Added. More?"
"Time." I was crying again, but softer now. "I need time to learn how to be myself. How to want things without immediately calculating if I deserve them. How to accept care without performing worthiness."
"All the time you need." The text expanded again. "This pact isn't static, Thalia. We can revise it as you grow. As you discover more about who you are under the cult conditioning. This is a living document."
He gestured and the complete contract floated between us, all our negotiated terms in glowing letters.
"Read it through," he said. "Make sure this is what you want. Because once we sign, it becomes binding. Magically and emotionally both."
