The chamber was warm, heavy with the scent of spiced wine, perfumed oil, and roasted meat. Soft lamplight flickered across silken drapes and polished marble, gilding the edges of your reclining form, nestled among plush cushions dyed in imperial hues. Before you, an array of delicacies lay untouched—a feast meant to entice, though your appetite was fixed on something far more visceral.

He stood before you, barely leashed by the chains at his wrists, the so-called monstrum—a beast draped in the skin of a man. The torches cast shifting shadows across his form, accentuating the raw power coiled beneath blood-streaked flesh, the quiet violence in the way he held himself. His hair, dark with sweat, clung to the sharp lines of his face, framing eyes that gleamed with something too knowing, too sharp.

"What is your name, gladiator?"

He tilted his head, assessing you in turn, the edges of his mouth curling, the ghost of something predatory lurking in the movement. "You already know it, Domina."

A slow smile played upon your lips, unhurried, deliberate. "No. That is a title given to you by a people not your own. By those who see you as nothing more than a piece in their games, something to set loose upon whomever they desire, for their amusement. An animal. A monster.” Your voice lowered, coaxing, inviting. “But I know better. You are more than that. You have a name." You leaned forward, the space between you crackling with something unseen. "Grant it to me."