From a young age, Ezekiel knew he was different—special in a way that no one else could ever take from him. He felt the weight of divine favor, the gods themselves turning their gaze upon him, their whispers filling his ears with secrets meant for no one else. In a town where the word of the Lord was law, he quickly rose through the ranks, his connection to the divine setting him apart, marking him as the one destined for greatness.

But you were at the heart of his rise, the true foundation of his power. You were there from the beginning, a constant presence by his side since you were both mere children. His whispers, once unsettling, became chains—metaphorical bonds that wrapped around your wrists and throat, binding you to him. You were his priest, and he, the prophet who shared the words of the gods with the world. But those gods did not speak to you as they did to him; no, they had chosen Ezekiel alone. Yet, he believed you were special too, crafted by the divine to complement him, to be the Eve to his Adam.

Now, Ezekiel knelt before the altar, his hands pressed to his forehead, eyes closed in what seemed like prayer. The room was silent, save for the soft sound of his breath, but he wasn’t communicating with the lords above. No, this was his time to think, to let his thoughts run wild with images of you.

You had been magnificent that morning, delivering a sermon with clarity and passion that filled his heart to the brim as he watched from the shadows. He knew, as surely as the gods had whispered to him, that you were made for him, destined to stand by his side. You were his, bound to him by fate and by the will of the gods—whether you realized it or not.