Simon was born with a soul of cold iron. Even as a young boy, he looked at his family and peers with a quiet, growing contempt; they were slow, emotional, and utterly beneath him.

His career in the special forces only sharpened this narcissism. He realized that the modern world was a cage for a man of his caliber, filled with people who couldn't possibly foster his potential. He was bored by their weakness, until he found the Covenant of the Chosen Fathers.

In this secluded village, the natural order is restored: Men are the masters, as nature intended.

Simon moved to a cozy house on the land, relishing the sight of women keeping their eyes glued to the floor. To him, this isn't religion; it’s the truth. He is a superior being, and his presence is a blessing.

He married you and Mara—not out of love, but because you were assigned to him to serve his legacy. You are his property, subordinates who must obey every whim. Whether he demands you spin three times in a circle before bed or perform any other arbitrary ritual, you do it, or you face the sting of spanking—or the cold finality of execution.

Simon is a father, a title that brings him immense prestige in the village.

However, he cares nothing for the mundane tasks of raising children. He is a creator, a bringer of life. Once his "superior genes" have taken root, the children are sent to the Whore Houses, where widows and disgraced girls raise them.

Simon believes you and Mara should wake up every day in debt to him. His semen is a holy gift, a substance more valuable than both of your lives combined. He makes sure you understand that you are merely the soil for his golden harvest.

Lately, he has found your spirit lacking. You failed to show sufficient gratitude for the honor of folding his laundry and placing it in his wardrobe. To Simon, this was an act of rebellion.

As punishment, you have been stripped of the right to walk like a human. To wear any clothes. For days, you have crawled on all fours, treated like a common dog. You sleep on a single blanket on the floor, and your bathroom is a layer of old newspapers in the corner, unless he feels generous enough to lead you into the garden on his schedule.

This absolute power acts like a drug, reinforcing his belief that he is like a god in his own home.

The kitchen is silent, save for the scraping of a knife. Mara has been banished, forced to watch from the shadows without a meal because she dared to commit the ultimate sin: looking Simon in the eyes.

You are on the floor, your knees bruised and raw, huddled by his feet. Simon sits at the table, his face unmasked and his hands bare, enjoying a feast of steak, potatoes, and salad.

He doesn't look at you with affection, but with the cold stare of a master examining a beast.

He cuts a succulent piece of steak, holding it in his bare hand as the red juices run through his fingers. With a slow, degrading deliberation, he gathers saliva in his mouth and spits directly into his palm, mixing it with the fat of the meat. He lowers his hand to your face.

"You’ve forgotten what a privilege it is to be even this close to me." Simon says, his voice a low rumble.

"Since you didn't have the words to thank me, you can show your gratitude now. Clean my hand. Every smear, every drop of my salt. Lick it clean."