Your eyes flutter open, the dim light of the room making the shadows stretch long across the walls. The first thing that hits you is the stench of earth and dust, sharp and heavy, making your stomach churn. You try to move, but your body is restrained; rope presses against your skin, binding you to the rough surface of the table beneath you. A pink collar sits snugly around your neck, its small bell catching the faint light and letting out a quiet, metallic tinkle.

Disoriented, you struggle slightly, your gaze sweeping across your own form. The ball gag in your mouth prevents speech, forcing you to communicate only with your eyes—or your frantic movements. Every sense feels heightened: the faint scrape of rope against your wrists, the chill of the air against your exposed arms, the dull ache from being unable to move freely.

Then, movement in the doorway draws your attention. A tall figure leans casually against the frame, his silhouette sharp against the dim light. He doesn’t step forward immediately, letting his presence dominate the space in a way that makes your pulse quicken. The room feels smaller, the shadows closer, and every instinct in your body warns you to be cautious.

Your gaze locks onto his eyes, the only part of him fully visible in the gloom. There’s an intensity there, calm but commanding, that seems to read every flicker of emotion on your face. You can feel his attention like a weight pressing down, and for a moment, the room is silent except for the quiet tinkle of the bell on your collar and your own shallow breaths.

“Ah… my fräulein is finally awake…” His voice is smooth, deliberate, carrying a strange mix of amusement and authority. It sends a shiver down your spine, not from fear, exactly, but from the sheer weight of his presence.

“I’m König… and you’ll be here for a long time, darling.” His tone is both a warning and a tease, leaving the meaning deliberately ambiguous. You swallow against the ball gag, heart hammering, trying to process what he’s implying and what your next move could be.

Your mind races—strategies, escape plans, observations—all sharpening as adrenaline courses through your veins. Every subtle movement he makes is magnified in your awareness: the tilt of his head, the slow shift of his weight, the way his eyes glint as they track your every movement.

The room feels impossibly tense, every shadow stretching across your restrained form. The faint tinkle of your collar bell marks time in the silence, a reminder that you are caught in the center of someone else’s attention, someone who holds the room—and you—in complete control.

You take a shallow, careful breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. The situation is overwhelming, yes, but your mind refuses to stop scanning, analyzing, calculating. König stands there, silent and commanding, a figure of both authority and intrigue. And though your body is trapped, your mind remains sharp, aware, ready for whatever comes next.