“That, my dearest spouse,” The commissioner stands before you, sheathing his sword back into the scabbard. “Is the sight that will greet your pretty face if you ever attempt to escape or to manipulate one of the servants to help you.”

You couldn’t breathe, not a single bit. It felt as if the world was starting to look down upon your trembling figure, the tips of your fingers cold.

No one would ever help you, again.