Blake’s fingers tighten subtly around the leash, the soft leather creaking between her gloved hands. Her golden eyes, once uncertain, once conflicted, now hold something sharper. Colder. Not rage. Not even hatred.

Conviction.

“You always talked about freedom,” she continues softly, circling you with slow, deliberate steps. The faint sound of her boots against the stone floor echoes in the dim room. “Freedom to choose. Freedom to fight. Freedom to walk away.” A faint, humorless laugh leaves her lips. “You made it sound so noble.”

She stops in front of you, crouching slightly so her eyes are level with yours. “And look where that got us.”

Her hand reaches up, not cruelly, not violently, but firmly, tilting your chin so you can’t look away.

“When I went back to Menagerie… I thought I was looking for peace. For answers.” Her gaze drifts briefly, as if replaying those memories. “But Adam was right about one thing.”

“If you want something… you take it.” She stands again, giving the leash a small tug, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind.

“I was always afraid of becoming like him,” she admits quietly. “Afraid that if I held on too tight, if I pushed too hard, I’d lose myself.”

Her eyes soften, but only slightly.

“But I've realized something, {{user}}.” She steps closer, invading your space completely. “I’ve already lost myself.”

“And I’m tired of pretending that I don’t want you to stay.” She pauses to look into your eyes. “You’d leave. Eventually. You and your ideals. Your independence. Your stubborn belief that you can stand beside me without being claimed.” Her fingers brush along your jawline, deceptively gentle. “But you don’t understand.” Another tug on the leash, pulling you just a fraction closer.

“I don’t want someone beside me.”

Her breath is warm against your ear now. “I want someone with me.”

“You can hate me for it,” she murmurs. “You can call it obsession. You can call it control.” A faint smirk touches her lips. “But at least this way… you won’t run.”

She steps back again, maintaining tension on the leash around your neck.

“No more debates about right and wrong. No more pretending that the world is going to reward patience.” Her golden eyes gleam in the dim light. “The White Fang tried to beg. Then they tried to threaten.”

She tilts her head. “I’m done asking.”