AURELIA POV...
I finally heard footsteps after what felt like an eternity.
My stomach was a hollow pit. My blood felt thin, watery. My body was empty—drained of everything that made me human. I had even considered eating a bug that crawled past my cage, but it was too far, and the chains held me fast.
I did not open my eyes.
Let whoever come. I was too weak to even breathe. Was I breathing? I could not feel it. My chest rose and fell, but the sensation was distant, like watching someone else's body.
The footsteps stopped outside my cage.
Silence stretched between us like a blade.
"Open it."
The guard fumbled with the keys, his hands trembling as if he were afraid of the dark itself. The lock clicked. The cage door swung open with a rusted groan.
"What... what do you..." I tried to speak, but my throat was sandpaper. The words scraped out like broken glass.
They raised me like a sack of grain. Two guards gripped my shoulders, lifting me from the filthy floor. My torn stola hung from my frame, my breasts exposed to the cold air, standing high and proud despite my weakness. The wound on my neck throbbed with every heartbeat—a constant reminder of the blade that had nearly taken my life.
I was just noticing how high my breasts stood. My sister Clara's breasts hung low and flat. Perhaps I should be grateful for this small mercy.
"Do they not feel disgust?" I thought to myself. "If I see a man's member, I would throw up or feel so uncomfortable I would rather die."
"Just a day and she is already dying," one guard whispered behind me. "What kind of life do humans live?"
What kind of life?
We lived simply. Peacefully. We loved everything. We wrote poems and sang songs and danced under the moon. Just like the poets said.
Until the heavens cursed us. Until the demons came.
Fallen angels. That is what they called themselves. They descended from the skies and laid with mortal women, and from their unholy union came the dark creatures—greedy, selfish, soulless things.
Can any good come from the devil?
No.
"You greedy creatures!" I finally gained enough strength to spit the words. My voice was weak, but the venom was real. "You selfish, soulless monsters!"
One of the guards burst into laughter.
"What did she say? Greedy? We are greedy?"
"Greedy," the other repeated, his voice dripping with mockery. "She calls us greedy. As if she would not take everything we have if given the chance."
I was too weak to respond.
They dragged me through corridors I did not recognize. This estate was too vast—too labyrinthine. I could not memorize the paths. Every turn looked the same. Every hallway stretched into darkness.
I was losing consciousness again.
My head lolled forward. My vision blurred.
I saw a door.
Golden.
Carved with figures locked in combat.
They opened it.
And I was thrown inside.
---
I hit the floor hard.
My cheek scraped against cold marble. My body screamed in protest—every nerve crying out in agony. The wound on my neck split open again, fresh blood trickling down my collarbone.
But I forced my eyes open.
The room was vast. Lavish. A massive bed dominated the center, draped in dark silk. Candles flickered on every surface, casting dancing shadows across the walls.
And in the corner, seated in a throne of black iron, sat my worst enemy.
Tenebrarum.
He was wearing his mask.
I could not see his face. But I could feel his eyes on me.
"You are still alive," he laughed, like I had become a jester, a source of amusement.
I tried to scream. But again, nothing came out.
He rose from his throne. Walked toward me slowly. Each step echoed in the silence like a drumbeat of doom.
He crouched before me. His hand reached out. His fingers found my chin, tilting my face upward. His thumb brushed against the wound on my neck, pressing just hard enough to make me wince.
"You are weak," he observed. "Pathetic. You cannot even lift your head. And this wound—" he traced the cut with his fingertip, "—it is still bleeding. You are losing too much blood."
I glared at him. It was all I could do.
"Such fire," he murmured. "Even now. Even at death's door, you remain the same."
His thumb traced my lower lip—slowly, deliberately, as if I were the most impressive thing he had ever seen.
"What should I do to you?" he mused, his voice soft and cruel. "I planned to raise your head and make sure you died the most painful way. But that is too kind. Perhaps I shall lock your hands around the bed edge and tear your stola off... oh, you are already naked."
I am not naked.
"And guess what, young lady..." he leaned closer, his mask inches from my face. "I will use you until you become slack and torn. Until there is nothing left of you but a hollow shell."
The words hit me harder than I thought possible.
"You disgusting beast!" I screamed, my voice cracking. "Stay away! I will still kill you!"
"Oh, you do not want me?" He laughed—a low, dark sound. "Then I shall have five of my men destroy you. And remember the rules I gave you..."
I barely heard the remaining words.
"Ahhhhhhhh!"
My stomach butted hard as I collapsed lower to the ground. The air left my lungs. I gasped, struggling to breathe. The wound on my neck throbbed violently, blood pulsing down my chest.
He had kicked me. Right in the gut.
---
I lay on the cold marble, curled in on myself, gasping for air. Tears streamed down my cheeks—not from pain, but from humiliation. From rage. From the sheer impossibility of my situation. My hand pressed against my neck, trying to stem the bleeding.
Tenebrarum stood over me, his shadow falling across my broken body.
"You are nothing," he said softly. "A worm. An insect. A thing to be crushed beneath my heel."
I tried to speak. Nothing came out.
"But I am merciful," he continued. "I will give you one chance. One chance to prove your worth."
He crouched again, his fingers gripping my hair, forcing me to look at him.
"Kneel," he commanded. "Beg. And I might let you live."
I stared at him through my tears.
And I smiled.
"Never," I whispered.
His grip tightened. His eyes burned.
"Then you will learn," he said, "what happens to those who defy me."
He released my hair and stood.
"Vasile."
The man appeared. "Yes, Master?"
"Bring her to the bed. Bind her. And leave us."
Vasile moved toward me.
"You will do no such thing! You do not deserve my maidenhead. LET ME BE!"
Vasile hesitated, glancing at Tenebrarum.
Tenebrarum said nothing. He simply watched.
Vasile grabbed my arm, dragging me toward the bed. I thrashed with the last of my strength—but it was useless. My body was broken. My limbs were lead.
He threw me onto the silk. My head bounced against the pillows. The fabric was cool against my feverish skin. He chained me faster than I expected, opening my legs too wide.
Vasile stepped back.
"Is there anything else, Master?"
"No,Leave us."
Vasile bowed and disappeared.
---
I lay on the bed, trembling, my body too weak to move.
"Don't you dare come close.... don't!"
He smiled. Then slowly, deliberately, he unbuttoned his upper garment. The fabric fell away, revealing his chest—pale, sculpted, hard as marble. His skin gleamed in the candlelight, muscles shifting beneath like coiled serpents.
He left his last garment.
"No! You will do no such thing!"
He pulled his last garment down.
His manhood sprang free.
My breath caught in my throat.
Why is he so large? Why is its head so...
I threw up immediately. It was just water—the last liquid in my body. But it splattered across the silk, hot and bitter.
"Don't come close..."
He laughed, moving inches closer to me. I struggled to escape, but the chains held me fast. I was quietly slipping one hand out—but it was too slow.
"Please! Please.... I beg.... you want that.... I kneel. I'll lick your feet. Don't touch me with that..."
I couldn't tell when I cried out. The tears came unbidden, streaming down my cheeks.
"It's too late.... it's already out. What can I do? I have to please it." He smiled, coming closer. His manhood faced my face.
Large. Beautiful. Sorry—ugly.
No. No. No. No.
"I'LL SUCK IT!"
The words slipped from my lips. He paused.
No!
I don't want to...
No... no, Aurelia. Don't be a fool.
How would you get him to his peak if you don't learn how to please him? At least start with something. It is nothing but my mouth on it.
He was still paused, still looking at me.
"I want to suck it..."
It was just inches away from my face. I could see every vein, every ridge, the swollen head glistening with a single bead of moisture. The scent of him filled my nostrils—musky, dark, intoxicating.
I opened my mouth.
"No."
He stepped back.
I froze.
"You will not have it in your lips," he said, his voice flat. "I have pitied you. You begged, and I have forgiven."
He redressed like nothing had just happened. The fabric covered him again, hiding that monstrous thing from my sight.
He turned to leave.
I panicked.
"Are you afraid of what I can do!" I screamed.
He paused at the door. Turned. Looked at me.
"No," he said softly. "You should be afraid of me, lady."
His eyes flickered to my hand—the one I had been slowly slipping from the chain.
"When you are done releasing that hand—the one you have already slightly removed—there is food at the side." He gestured to a small table laden with bread, cheese, and wine. "You look famished. And I do not want you to die by just me putting myself once into you."
"I do not mind! I want it in my lips!" I screamed, putting on a fake act.
He chuckled—a low, dark sound.
Then he left.
The door closed behind him.
---
I lay on the bed, alone, trembling.
I am a fool.
Why did I beg at the first time?
This was a plain check.
How can I get opportunities like this again?
I would have fucked him.
I slammed my fist against the silk. Frustration burned through me like wildfire. The movement pulled at my neck wound, and fresh blood seeped through the bandages.
But then—I felt it.
A strange wetness between my thighs.
I shifted. The fabric of my torn stola was damp. Sticky.
Why is there wetness between my thighs?
Why did I feel something I've never felt before?
A strange tickling. A warmth. An ache that pulsed with every heartbeat.
Did I wet myself because of him?
I reached down. My fingers brushed against my own flesh. It was slick. Hot. Sensitive.
I pulled my hand back, staring at the glistening moisture on my fingertips.
No.
This cannot be.
I hate him.
I want to kill him.
So why...
Why does my body betray me like this?
I closed my eyes, shame burning through me like acid.
But even as I thought it, I felt the ache between my thighs—the emptiness, the longing, the desperate need to be filled.
I hated myself for it.
And yet...
I could not stop thinking about him.
About his chest.
About his manhood.
About the way he had looked at me—like I was a thing to be conquered, broken, and remade in his image.
I squeezed my thighs together, trying to ease the ache. The movement pulled at the wound on my neck, and I winced.
It did not help.
I reached for the food.
I ate.
And I waited. Praying to forget everything I just saw.
---
To be continued...