Low. Pleased.
For just a second, the sound iswrong. Too sharp. Too hungry. Like something with teeth slipped through the velvet.
But then it smooths out again, back to patience and warmth.
“Forgive me.” There’s amusement threading through the words now. “You make me eager. But I will not rush you.”
The presence retreats. Just slightly. Giving me space I didn’t ask for.
“Soon, then.” The voice curls around me one last time. “We have time, little queen. All the time you need.”
Breath against my ear—warm, deliberate, lingering.
“I am very, very patient.”
The darkness lifts.
All at once, like someone pulled back a curtain, and I’m standing in the chamber.
Alone.
Except I’m not.
I can still feel where he touched me. Ghost touches on my jaw, my arm, my scars.
The warmth of his breath lingers at my ear.
And my pulse—it’s still slowing, still matching the rhythm of his voice even though he’s gone.
I look down.
Shadow clings to my wrists. Faint but real, like smoke that won’t dissipate.
I try to shake it off.
It doesn’t move.
My other wrist has it too. When I touch my neck, I feel it there as well—cool and present.
He left pieces of himself behind.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly freezing despite the silver fire flickering along the walls.
The chamber is beautiful in a sick sort of way. Black stone and shadows and fire that doesn’t burn. Like a bedroom and a throne room and a trap all at once.
I should run.
Find a way out.
But where would I go? Back to the void? Back to the things that want to eat me?
And even if I could leave—even if there was a door—
Part of me doesn’t want to.
Part of me wants him to come back. Wants to hear him say I’m strong again. That I’m whole. That I’m not broken.
I hate that part of me.
