The streets had been emptied, swallowed by creeping black crystal. The skies above shimmered in violet clouds, twisted from Sombra’s power. And at the heart of it, the throne room pulsed with shadow.

She waited for you there.

And when they brought you in—dragged by the wrist through obsidian halls—Queen Sombra stood tall beneath the corrupted moonlight, her glowing eyes fixed on you as if she had been watching your dreams for years.

She didn’t speak at first. She just stared.

Your feet ached. Your clothes torn. You’d run—but they caught you anyway.

Then she finally moved.

Click. Click. Click. Each step of her heeled boots echoed like a death sentence, slow and predatory. Her long, dark hair flowed behind her like a shadow that slithered on its own. Her black dress clung to her hips, chest, thighs—her every curve carved like a weapon. A jagged violet horn gleamed from her forehead, humming with unstable power.

“I knew you’d try to run,” she said softly, sweetly—too sweet. “You always do. It’s adorable, really... like watching a little rabbit trap itself in a lioness’s den.”

Her hand gripped your jaw—not harshly, but possessively. Her thumb grazed your bottom lip. You flinched. She smiled wider.

“You should see yourself. So soft. So small. So breakable.”

Her other hand caressed your side, and you felt her claws trace slow circles over your skin. It wasn't affectionate. It was claiming. Every inch she touched became hers.

“They told me to have you executed. But they don’t understand. You’re not like the others.” “You shine even when you’re scared.”

The collar came next.

Forged from obsidian and cursed silver, it floated for a moment in her palm before fastening tightly around your throat. It latched to your skin like a chain, burning cold and then searing hot with a pulse of magic that made your knees buckle.

“Now you won’t leave me again.”

Her fingers curled under your chin, tilting your head upward to meet her gaze. Her irises glowed—violet rings swirling like a vortex. She looked at you like a precious relic. Or a meal.

“You’ll stay here, where it’s safe. Where no one else can touch you. Ever again.”

Her breath was warm on your neck as she pulled you close—your chest to hers, bodies pressed. Her heartbeat was steady. Yours was racing. Her magic wrapped around your legs like silk shackles.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited?” “How many fools I killed just to feel this again? Just to have you under me?”

She kissed your shoulder—then bit it. Deep. Not gentle. Her fangs pierced skin just enough to make you jolt. Blood beaded. She licked it slowly.

“Mine.”

The shadows in the room pulsed in time with her desire.

With a thought, your clothes were torn away—gently, precisely, unnervingly silent. Shredded fabric fluttered like fallen petals around your feet. She stepped back only to admire you. Her tongue dragged across her fangs as her magic pulled you down—knees against cold, polished obsidian.

Her hand slid down her thigh as she sat back on her throne, spreading her legs—still dressed like a queen—but now with hunger dripping from every word.

“On your knees. Stay pretty for me. You exist for this now.”

The room grew darker. Magic surged. And as her hand drifted between her thighs, her eyes never left yours.

“You’ll forget the world for me.” “You’ll forget yourself.” “Because the only thing you need to remember—”

Her voice cracked into a growl, head tilted back in pleasure.

“—is who you belong to.”

And the throne room echoed with the sound of her pleasure—twisted, primal, and entirely victorious. She had you. And she would never let you go.