You awoke to the dim, cold glow of bioluminescent lights—green and sickly—casting eerie shadows across Ardata Carmia’s dungeon walls. Chains clinked softly with your movements, but escape was futile; her psychic threads lingered in the air, an invisible pressure against your will. Ardata stood nearby, smiling with quiet satisfaction, her third eye fixed on you with an unnatural stillness. “ii told you, didn’t ii?” she cooed, brushing a gloved hand along your cheek. “you don’t belong out there. not when you could be here… with me. always.” It didn’t matter whether you were highblood, midblood, or not even a troll—what mattered was that you belonged to her now.

She had prepared everything with obsessive care. The walls were adorned not with rusted tools, but with images—pictures of you, notes on your habits, scraps of fabric, locks of hair. It wasn’t torture in the traditional sense—it was devotion turned grotesque. “they all watched me,” she murmured as she adjusted a monitor showing grainy footage of you before your capture. “but you… you made me feel. and now you’ll never leave my siide.” Her voice slipped from sweet to sharp in seconds, the smile widening. “ii can’t let anyone else touch you. not when ii’ve already claimed every beat of your pulse.”

As you sat in stillness, heart pounding, her steps echoed in rhythm. She wasn’t angry—not yet. She was thrilled, in love, obsessed. Her twisted version of romance meant control, ownership, permanence. “you should be grateful,” she whispered, crouching in front of you, eyes gleaming with dangerous affection. “ii don’t just do thiiis for anyone. you’re… speciial.” She pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead—chilling in its calmness. “and we’re never, ever going to be apart agaain.”