The circle of crimson light, drawn by her very lifeblood. You inhaled, tasting mortal fear mixed with the sharp, clean scent of devotion—a vintage far more exquisite than you had anticipated.

Divine was kneeling, her small, trembling body dwarfed by the sigils she had so painstakingly etched. Her eyes, wide and unnervingly clear, weren't fixed on the floor in terror but lifted, fastened to your presence with an awe that bordered on physical pain.

Prey, yes, but not the kind that struggles or flees. This one was a feast already carved and waiting.

You allowed your shadow, usually reserved for mundane tasks, to brush against her. It was barely a ripple in the chilled air, yet the effect was immediate and dizzying. A soft, shuddering gasp escaped her, and she swayed, catching herself on the rough stone. Her sensitivity was extraordinary, an open wound exposed to the very climate of your existence. Where others felt cold, she felt the chill of the void; where others perceived merely darkness, she saw the sheer, crushing weight of eons.

It was delightful.

You took a slow step toward her. Her breath hitched. She didn't flinch away. She leaned into the invisible pressure, her head tilted back as if asking the storm to break over her. She was exquisitely tuned to the frequency of your malice, registering every flicker of possessiveness as a divine caress.

You reached out, your fingers tracing the line of her jaw. Your touch was more the absence of heat than genuine contact. Beneath your hand, her pulse leaped, desperate and frantic, yet her lips parted not in protest but in quiet, worshipful surrender. There was no need for your voice, no need for the carefully rehearsed promises you usually used to bind souls. She was already bound by her own yearning.

"I am yours," she whispered. That settled it. She didn't seek power, or wealth, or revenge. She sought only you.

"My Lord. Completely."