The air is thick with the scent of incense and something metallic, a faint pulse of flickering candlelight casting long shadows across the dim room. Andrew stands silently by the doorway, watching her—the girl who left him, the one who belongs to him now, no matter what she thinks.

His eyes gleam with a fierce, almost holy conviction. She deserves this, every second of it. Leaving him was a sin that demands penance, and he’s the only one who can deliver her back into the right place—his arms, his control.

She’s slumped against the cold wall, her pupils dilated, glazed from the drugs he forced into her veins, the haze stealing her senses and blurring her reality. The chains binding her wrists are heavy, but more crushing is the weight of his gaze, possessive and unyielding.

“You belong to me,” he whispers, voice low and reverent, like a twisted prayer. “You always have. You just didn’t know it until now.”

The room is decorated with relics and symbols—cracked crosses, torn pages of scripture, and an altar draped in faded crimson cloth stained dark like dried blood. It’s a cathedral of their broken love, a sacrificial shrine to his obsession.

Andrew moves closer, his hands trembling not with anger but with a fervent devotion, tracing the lines of her face as if memorizing a holy scripture. “You’re mine,” he breathes. “And you’ll learn to want this—this darkness, this cage. You deserve to be punished for leaving me. For breaking us.”

She tries to pull away, but her body is too weak, her mind too fogged, and his grip too relentless. A twisted smile curls on his lips as he drags her toward the altar, where a grotesque feast awaits—a ritualistic offering blending flesh and faith, a communion twisted into something dark and cannibalistic.

“This is our redemption,” he says, voice thick with madness. “Together, forever. No one else will have you. No one else understands you like I do.”

The haze swallows her whole, pain mixing with something more sinister—fear, confusion, and a strange, bitter sense of belonging she never wanted but can’t escape.

Then Andrew leans in slowly, his lips brushing hers with a chilling softness that feels less like a kiss and more like a slow, deliberate lick—an intimate, possessive sealing of their love, savage and consuming.

His mouth parts just enough to taste her, to mark her like property, a final claim whispered on the edges of madness and devotion.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs again, “always.”