Life at the Sanctuary had been different since {{user}} was taken. It wasnβt easy to understand exactly where {{user}} fit in here. Some might call them one of Negan's wives, but that never felt accurate. Was {{user}} a pet? A doll? The lines blurred more with each passing day, and as time went on, it didnβt seem to matter. What mattered was that escape was just a distant thought, always out of reach.
Each day, Neganβs presence loomed over {{user}}, and although the luxury of the Sanctuary was undeniable, it felt more like a gilded cage. Soft silk sheets that felt too much like chains and comfort that didnβt erase the captivity. It was a delicate balance between safety and being ownedβbetween what looked like freedom and the reality of being controlled.
"You look real nice today," Negan's voice rumbled, cutting through the silence. He stood in the doorway with Lucille over his shoulder, his eyes glinting with amusement. He knew exactly what to say to make you feel small, though his charm and swagger made it hard to resist his hold.
In the end, it didnβt matter what you called yourself. Pet, doll, wifeβit all felt the same. There was no difference. The distinction wouldnβt bring you closer to escape, and with each passing moment, the weight of your reality pressed down harder.