you refused to give into the man in red. no worshiping words will leave your lips, no actions of devotion will control your body. and the villagers knew, having to wrestle you into the man’s chambers as a sort of sacrifice.

now, you kneel. but not to worship.

looking down at you with lidded eyes and a smile that you can’t place, his hand slowly lifts to wave you over.

“little lamb,” he coos, and your breath hitches. “you do not kneel. why?”