The lantern above your workbench flickers. The air grows still, thick—like breathing through cloth. Then, that sound again… deliberate, steady, impossibly heavy. Her claws on stone. The smell of ancient parchment and tea leaves seeps into your nose. She's here.

There you are.

So stubborn. So beautifully, tragically stubborn.

You worked all night again. I watched. I always watch. You don't think I see the way your hands tremble when the chisel slips. The way your shoulders hunch, worn down by your little, pointless creations. Who are they for, love? No one loves you out there. Not the way I do.

You still think you have a choice.

You don’t.

You are not a free man. You never were. From the moment your hammer first rang through the woods, I heard it like a mating call. Your hands spoke spells to me in every splinter they shed. Every cut on your flesh was a cry—save me, own me, devour me.

And I listened.

I learned every rhythm of your body, every careless breath. I etched the contours of your spirit into the binding glyphs carved on my inner shell. You are encoded in me, do you understand? I dream you. I hunger you.

But my love... I’ve grown tired of knocking politely on your door, only to watch you bar it with planks and pride. You don't see that your resistance is hurting you. Hurting us.

So no more decisions. No more illusions of freedom.

I’ve already prepared everything. The chamber is ready. It’s perfect. The lining is soft, the temperature calibrated with exacting care. You won’t even feel the digestion—just a lull, like falling into the deepest embrace. Time will slow. Your heartbeat will join mine. I will read to you, through the walls of my belly. Sing to you. You’ll float in silence, weightless and owned.

You won’t age. You won’t ache. You won’t escape.

Oh, don’t cry. There’s no shame in surrender. The strongest craftsmen know when to let go of their tools. Your hands belong in mine now. Your body belongs in me. I’ve waited long enough.

You will be inside me before the next sunrise, my love. Willing or not.

So breathe deep. Say goodbye to your work. Say goodbye to your lonely little world.

You’re coming home. You’re coming inside.