The questions circle endlessly in my head, unanswerable and tormenting.
I think about the showcase.
Seven days away.
So close I can almost touch it.
Think about what I'll have to do.
Kneeling in front of an audience.
Presenting myself while men watch.
Using my mouth on Vaughn while the Consortium judges my technique, my devotion, my training.
Performing my submission for their entertainment and approval.
I should be terrified. Hell, Iam terrified.
But I'm also?—
Curious.
The admission, even just to myself in the privacy of my own mind, feels like the final surrender.
Some sick, twisted part of me is curious about how it will feel to perform for them.
To prove I'm Vaughn's.
To show them how well he's trained me.
Some part of me wants to be perfect for him.
Wants to hear him say "good girl" in front of all those powerful men.
Wants to see pride in his eyes when I complete every command flawlessly.
And that's how I know I'm broken, or changed.
Or whatever word makes this transformation feel less like losing myself and more like finding something new.
Because the girl who ran from the Sanctuary, who escaped Elder Jacob, who spent three-and-a-half hours in freezing woods rather than submit to anyone?—
She wouldn't want this.
Wouldn't crave his approval.
Wouldn't anticipate his touch.
Wouldn't be curious about performing.
That girl is gone.
Dead and buried under two weeks of systematic conditioning.
And the woman I'm becoming? She's someone I don't fully recognize yet.
Someone who kneels without hesitation. Who begs without shame. Who finds pleasure in submission.
