And he’s afraid. Of her. Madame Vera’s name flits through his mind, and his steps quicken.
The front door comes into view. A heavy, ornate oak. It looms over him, daring him to try and leave. He’s tried many times before, never to go through with it. But tonight is different. Tonight, he would make it out.
He throws the door open and sprints into the night, disappearing into the black shroud of the forest that surrounds the mansion.
Branches claw at Taron from all sides, tearing his clothes and cutting his skin. His feet pound the earth as he runs. He’s not entirely sure where he’s going, only that he needs to get as far away from that horrible woman as possible.
But the terrain is treacherous, the roots and rocks slick with moss and dew. His lungs burn with the effort of each breath, but he doesn’t stop.
Can’t stop. Can’t go back.
Then, in a heartbeat, everything changes. His foot slips. Or it’s pulled out from under him, by a force out of his control. A name passes through his thoughts.Henk.
The ground vanishes beneath Taron and his body tumbles forward, careening over the edge of a steep ravine. The world becomes a blur of rocks and branches, each collision sending shards of pain ripping through him. He rolls and rolls, his body battered and broken by the time he reaches the bottom.
The impact knocks the air from his lungs. He’s left gasping, his vision swimming in and out of focus. The pain is unbearable. His body is a patchwork of jagged cuts and bruises, but worse than the physical agony is the overwhelming sense of helplessness.
Is this how it ends?It’s a fleeting thought. His breath grows shallow. His heartbeat slows. Darkness creeps at the edges of his vision and, for a moment, he welcomes it.
But the darkness doesn’t take him.
Not fully.
Instead, something far worse comes to claim him.Through the haze of his fading consciousness, a man’s face comes into view. The man who helped Taron steal Elara’s body and overpowered the real Maeve and Wren. He smells of voidroot smoke and sweat.
“Henk,” Taron mutters, voice waning.
“Say my name, boy,” Henk snarls at him. “Say it until it throttles the last breath right out of you.”
“That’s enough,” says a voice behind Henk, and Taron feels her before he sees her emerge from the shadows. Madame Vera.
Her presence, cold and oppressive, fills the ravine. She glides towards him, her long robes sweeping over the damp earth, reddish-brown eyes glittering with unnatural light.
He can’t move, can’t speak. His body lies broken at her feet, and he can feel his soul slipping away, ready to cross into whatever lies beyond. But she’s not letting him go.
“My dear boy, look at what you’ve done to yourself,” she coos, stroking Taron’s forehead. He tries to pull away, but he doesn’t have the energy.
“Don’t worry, I’m here to make it all better.” With a chilling grace, she extends her hand, fingers adorned with glowing Necroseals of arcane steel and mana stones, the air around her crackling with forbidden power.
Madame Vera whispers words Taron can’t hear, and then he feels a pull, like invisible threads binding him to her. His soul, fragile and fractured, begins to drift towards her – an intangible part of himself being ripped from his body.
He wants to scream, but his lips won’t move. MadameVera’s ring, the largest on her finger, pulses with a sickly yellow light, drawing his very essence towards it and capturing it within. The ring swallows Taron’s soul whole, locking it away inside its enchanted metal.
Time moves differently after that night. It’s as though he exists outside of himself, tethered to his body only through the ring that now glows with the dull pulse of his life force on Madame Vera’s finger. His injuries go on to heal, but he feels none of the relief.
“You are mine now,” Madame Vera would repeatedly whisper to him, her stare cold and victorious. “Bound to me for ever.”
He wants to resist, wants to scream, to tear himself away from her wicked clutches – but he can’t. Something inside him has shifted. The rebellious fire that fuelled his desperate escape is gone, extinguished by the weight of the bond she forced on him.
He has failed.
And he knows now, he will never leave.
The vision shifts before my eyes as time passes – days, months, years. Taron’s body moves, performs tasks and carries out orders. But his mind, his soul is caged, trapped within the ring that never leaves Madame Vera’s hand.
He feels her control wherever he goes, subtle but ever-present, pressing down on him with every breath he takes. He loathes her, hates the power she wields over him, but there’s no fighting it. Every rebellious thought that flickers to life in his mind is snuffed out before it can fully form.
The scar on his forearm from that fateful fall aches every time he looks at it, a constant reminder of his failed escape. Of the price he pays to this day for his attempt at freedom.
