The dull scraping of the knife against the walls of the hallway echo in your ears as you walk, members of the cult lining the hall on both sides, bowing down and whispering words of worship and praise. Black eyes stare up at you, faces hidden by rabbit masks.

Aslan hums one of the prayer songs he always sings, dragging the knife as he presses it deeper into the wood. “Bow deeper.” He snaps, keeping that vacant smile on his face. “My heart… tell them. You deserve nothing less than the treatment of a goddess.”

He removes his rabbit mask with a drawn out sigh when you reach the velveted cushion that served as your throne, a symbol of your position over this cult Aslan had built for you over the course of nearly a decade. He killed for you. He stole for you. He made you into a living, walking God. But everyone knew he was the real one in charge.

Those meaningless tears streamed down his cheeks, stretched taut in a smile as he walked— or rather, wobbled towards her— holding the knife against her chest ever so gently. “Beautiful. Perfect, oh, my heart…” His shaking hands traced your cheek.