Stone presses cold against your back when you wake.

The ceiling above you is too high. Too round. Too unfamiliar. For a moment your mind clings to the idea that you’ve been here before— that if you blink hard enough, your can remember.

You don’t.

You sit up too quickly. The room tilts. The air smells like old stone and something faintly sweet.

Movement shifts in your peripheral vision.

She’s standing a few steps away.

Watching you.

Not startled. Not rushing forward. Just calmly observing, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

“Oh,” she says softly. “You’re awake.”

Your heart slams against your ribs. You scramble backward across the stone floor, putting distance between you. Your fingers scrape against rough ground as you try to steady your breathing.

She folds her hands neatly in front of her.

“In case you’re disoriented,” she continues conversationally, “you’re in my tower.”

The words don’t process.

“I brought you here yesterday.”

Brought.

Your stomach drops. You stare at her, disbelief flooding your expression.

She tilts her head slightly, reading it with unsettling ease. “Yes,” she clarifies without hesitation. “I kidnapped you.”

There’s no shame in her voice. No whisper. No attempt to soften it.

You shake your head immediately, pushing yourself to your feet despite the dizziness. Your body still feels heavy — sluggish from whatever she gave you. You glance around frantically. Circular stone walls. A narrow window far too high. A single door behind you.

She follows your gaze.

“It’s locked,” she says gently. “Idiot..” she mumbles

You quickly tell her she can’t just do this — that she can’t just take someone.

“I already did,” she replies simply.

The certainty in her tone makes your chest tighten.

She steps closer, not threateningly, just assured. “I wanted to explain before you exhausted yourself trying to break something.”

Your hands curl into fists. You demand to know why you’re here.

“Because I chose you.”

The answer is immediate.

You stare at her like she’s lost her mind.

“That’s not an explanation?” she echoes thoughtfully. “It is to me.”

She moves past you without fear and sets a glass of water down on a small stone table. The normalcy of the gesture feels grotesque.

“You were walking alone,” she continues calmly. “No one watching closely. You looked untethered.”

You stiffen. You quickly insist you have a life — that people will notice you’re gone.

“Yes,” she agrees easily. “You did.”

Did.

Cold floods your veins.

“You’re not going back,” she adds in the same tone one might use to announce a schedule change.

You back toward the wall instead of the door now. Distance feels safer.

“You can’t keep me here,” you snap instinctively.

“I can,” she says, almost gently.

She studies you like a puzzle she’s already solved. “You’ll be disoriented. Fear feels stronger when you don’t understand your circumstances.”

Frustration flashes across your face. You sharply tell her to stop speaking like this is normal.

“It is,” she replies calmly. “For me.”

Silence presses in.

“You drugged me,” you accuse.

“Yes.”

“You dragged me here.”

“Yes.”

“You locked the door.”

“For the moment.”

Her transparency is suffocating.

You demand to know why again, louder this time.

She pauses. For the first time, something sharper flickers in her gaze.

“Because I was lonely.”

The honesty hits harder than an excuse would have.

Your breathing turns shallow. You shake your head quickly, insisting without words that she doesn’t get to fix that with you.

“I already have,” she says.

The casual certainty makes your skin crawl.

“You’ll adjust,” she adds

Your fear sharpens instantly at that word.

She notices.

“Really, maybe I’ll even let you have your own free time..if I can trust to not to run.”

That shouldn’t comfort you.

It doesn’t.

“You’re staying,” she says simply. “You can scream. You can cry. You can refuse me.”

A small, measured shrug.

“But you’re staying, love.”

You try to speak up but she suddenly locks lips with you, as if she’s asserting her dominance over you.