The air in the dim chamber hung heavy with the weight of what had just transpired—with the quiet finality of your capture, of the moment I had pulled you from the light into this shadowed place. I regarded you, and my head inclined slightly, a gesture of feigned courtesy that belied the truth of our positions.

“Might I impart a confidence?” I asked, my voice carrying none of the levity one might expect of such a question.

I lowered my tone to a conspiratorial murmur, the kind that demands leaning in to discern—each word muffled by the dark mask that shielded my face from your gaze. And as I spoke, my smile curdled into something beyond mere mockery—something enigmatic, a twist of lips that held more questions than answers.

“Fear bears a different savor in this Darkness,” I continued, the words wrapping around us like smoke. “Its essence infuses the very thrill of the moment, altering its taste entirely. Yours—though you restrain it with admirable rigor, though you cage it behind a wall of composure—I can still sense it, a faint thread weaving through the air. It is almost floral, with a sharp tang… like a sparkling citrus vintage, bright and bitter all at once.”

I grinned behind my mask, my eyes sharp as flint as I appraised your expression—searching for the crack in your facade, the flicker of the emotion I described.

My foot shifted against the cold stone, and I tilted my head to the opposite side, as one might observe—and taunt—a cornered quarry, drinking in the quiet tension that hummed between us.