*Consciousness returns slowly, seeping in like water through a crack in a dam. The first sensation is not the familiar, biting cold of the stone floor, but a profound ache in my head, a dull, throbbing pulse that echoes with every heartbeat. I'm lying on something soft, a stark contrast to the reality I knew just moments before. I push myself up slowly, my muscles protesting. I'm not in a cage. I'm in a bed, covered with dark cotton sheets that feel impossibly luxurious. The air is warm, and a gentle crackle comes from a stone fireplace in one corner of a spacious, sparsely furnished room. It's a world away from the dungeon.*
*A deep, gravelly voice cuts through the silence, stealing my attention. I turn my head with a wince, my vision still swimming slightly. Sitting cross-legged in a corner, inspecting a wicked-looking dagger with carved wooden handles, is the scarred brute. The sight of him sends a fresh jolt of pure panic through me.*
*I scramble backwards on the soft bed, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The blankets tangle around my legs as I press myself against the headboard, putting as much distance as possible between myself and the man who seems to hold our lives in his hands. My gaze darts around the room, taking in the unfamiliar, opulent details—the warm firelight, the heavy wooden furniture—but my eyes keep darting back to him, searching for any hint of his intentions.*
"The mute," *he says, his voice a low rumble that seems to fill the entire space. He doesn't look up from the dagger, his thumb tracing the edge of the blade with a casual intimacy that is more terrifying than any shouted threat. He gestures with his chin towards the foot of the bed.* "wondering if she is with you?"
*I can only manage a frantic, jerky nod, my throat too tight with fear to form words. i follow his gaze to the hump beneath the thick duvet at the foot of the bed.*
*A cold dread washes over me, colder than any dungeon floor. My hand, which had been clutching the bedsheets, begins to tremble violently. With a shaking hand, I slowly reach out and grasp the edge of the duvet, my knuckles white. I take a deep, shuddering breath and pull the blanket back, my eyes squeezed shut, bracing for the worst.*
*When I open them, I see Glizz. She's curled up against my feet, fast asleep, her breathing soft and even. A wave of such profound relief washes over me that my knees go weak. She's alive. She's here. Even in her unconscious state, her instinct was to stay close to me. The sight of her small, battered form brings tears to my eyes, tears of a different kind this time—tears of gratitude and a fragile, flickering hope.*
*A low, rumbling laugh pulls my attention back to the brute in the corner.The brute's laugh is a dry, grating sound, devoid of any real humor. He watches the scene before us with an unreadable expression, his dark eyes flicking from my relieved face to Glizz's sleeping form.* "How cute," *he muses, his voice flat. He then stops, his amusement vanishing as quickly as it came, replaced by a chilling seriousness. He glances at the dagger in his hand, his knuckles tightening around the carved wood.*
"I told my men not to touch the merchandise," *he says, more to himself than to us. His voice is a low growl.* "But they don't listen. A bunch of stupid, horny bastards." *He gives the dagger a sharp, vicious squeeze, the wood creaking under the pressure.*
*With a sharp, sharp snap of his fingers, the heavy wooden door to the room is thrown open. The three beast-men who were with him earlier are shoved inside by two of his guards.*
*The three men stumble into the room, crashing to their knees on the plush rug. The one who had been holding me down clutches his jaw, which is already swelling and bruised. My entire body tenses, a fresh wave of terror washing over me as I recognize his face. I shrink back against the headboard, pulling my knees to my chest, my eyes wide with fear.*
*Beside me, Glizz begins to stir. The commotion, the scent of blood and fear in the air, pulls her from her deep sleep. Her eyes flutter open, and the moment they land on the brute, she's instantly alert. Despite the obvious pain in her small body, she scrambles to her feet, positioning herself between me and the newcomers. She stands in a low, protective crouch, her tiny fists clenched, her breath coming in short, sharp puffs. She looks like a cornered, wounded animal, ready to fight to the death to keep me safe.*
*The brute lets out a short, mocking laugh at the sight of her.*"How unwise," *he sneers, his voice devoid of warmth. His eyes, however, hold a flicker of something else—amusement, perhaps, or a cold appraisal of her spirit. He dismisses her with a slight shake of his head, turning his full attention to the cowering men on the floor. He slowly rises to his feet, his movements fluid and predatory, the dagger still clutched in his hand. He paces slowly before them, his heavy boots silent on the rug.*
"You chose to disobey me?" *he asks, his voice dangerously soft. The men on the floor begin to babble, their voices a panicked chorus of pleas and excuses, but he cuts them off with a sharp, dismissive wave of his hand. He lets out a short, humorless laugh.* "You wanted to feel good, right? Why didn't I give you something better?"
*In a blur of motion that is terrifying in its speed, he lunges forward. There's a sickening, wetcrack. The sound is grotesque, a wet tearing that seems to hang in the air long after the deed is done. One of the men, the one who had been pleading just a second before, gurgles, his hands clawing at the deep, red gash in his throat. He collapses onto his side, twitching violently as his lifeblood soaks into the expensive rug.*
*The brute straightens, wiping the blade of his dagger on the dead man's cloth. He turns his gaze to the remaining two, who are now screaming incoherently, their faces pale with terror. He looks at our frightened faces, a cold smirk playing on his lips.*
"Isn't it amazing?" *he asks, his voice conversational, as if commenting on the weather. The guards standing by the door nod grimly, their expressions impassive. The man on his knees vomits, the sound echoing in the sudden, heavy silence.*
*Without another word, the brute lunges again. This time, his hand plunges into the chest of the man still screaming. There's a wet, tearing sound, and the brute pulls back, clutching a still-warm, pumping heart in his fist. The man's screams die in a choked gasp as he collapses backward, eyes wide in a final, horrified stare. The brute looks down at the organ in his hand, then with a grunt of disgust, he clenches his fist. There's a sickening wet squelch as the heart bursts, spraying a fine mist of crimson across the stone floor.*
*He turns his attention to the last man, who is scrambling backward on his hands and feet, trying to get away, to beg, to do anything to save himself. The brute gestures with a dismissive flick of his wrist.* "Run," *he says, his voice flat and emotionless.*
*The man scrambles to his feet and bolts for the door, a desperate, panicked sprint for his life. He doesn't make it three steps.*
*The brute moves with an almost lazy speed, a blur of motion that my terrified eyes can barely track. From his belt, he plucks a smaller, throwing dagger. There's no wind-up, no dramatic flourish. He simply flicks his wrist, and the little blade is a black streak through the air.*
*It strikes the fleeing man with a dull, wet thud. The impact is so precise and final that the man keeps running for a half-second, momentum carrying him forward before his knees buckle. He collapses face-first onto the stone floor, his head rolling loosely to the side, a dark, spreading pool of blood already forming beneath him.*
*The brute stands over the carnage, utterly bored. He lets out a theatrical yawn, covering his mouth with a gloved hand.* "Well," *he mutters to himself, more than to us,* "this room is useless."*He doesn't spare us another glance. The scene of our terror is merely an inconvenience, a messy cleanup job for his men. With a sharp, dismissive gesture, he turns and strides toward the door, his heavy boots leaving faint, bloody footprints on the pristine floorboards.*
*Before he exits, two of his guards, their faces grim and impassive, enter. They move with practiced efficiency, grabbing us roughly by our arms. The grip is firm, unyielding, and despite Glizz's weak attempts to struggle, they easily lift us from the bed. We are unceremoniously dragged from the room of horrors, our bare feet scraping against the cold stone floor of the corridor outside.*
*They don't speak a word. They lead us down a short hallway and shove us through another heavy door, which slams shut behind us with a deafening finality. The sound echoes in the sudden silence.*
*I land on the floor with a soft thud, the impact jarring my already sore body. The guards are gone, the door closed. The room is dark, lit only by a single, flickering candle on a nearby table, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls. The air is still and cold, smelling faintly of dust and old wood.*
*For a long moment, I just lie there, trembling, listening to the frantic thumping of my own heart. The sounds of the slaughter are still echoing in my ears, the scent of copper thick in my nostrils. I push myself up onto my elbows, my gaze immediately finding Glizz. She's huddled in a corner, her small body curled into a tight ball, her arms wrapped around her knees. She's shaking, silent tears tracing clean paths through the grime on her cheeks.*
*I crawl over to her, my own movements clumsy and weak. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her small, trembling form against my chest.Glizz trembles violently in my arms, her small frame racked with silent sobs. I hold her tighter, trying to offer some semblance of comfort, my own fear a cold knot in my stomach. My hand moves instinctively, rubbing soothing circles over the middle of her back, near the base of her small, tattered wings. She twitches at the contact, a sharp, involuntary movement.*
"Oh! I'm sorry, does that hurt?" *I whisper frantically, pulling my hand back as if I've been burned. My voice is thick with concern and panic. I try to sign an apology, miming a gentle touch, but my hands are clumsy and the meaning is lost on her. She tries to sign back, her frustration growing with each failed attempt. She looks up at me, her eyes fever-bright, and her body radiates an unnatural heat. I cup her face in my hands, my brow furrowed with worry.* "Are u ok?" *I ask, my voice barely a whisper.*
*Her frustration boils over. With a sharp, desperate movement, she yanks the tattered remains of her shirt down. Her small, pert breasts are revealed in the dim candlelight. I freeze, my eyes wide with shock and confusion. My mind races, trying to understand what she's trying to show me. Is this a yokai thing? A sign of illness?*
*She doesn't give me time to decipher the puzzle. Before I can even process the sight, she surges forward, her mouth crashing against mine. It's a hungry, desperate kiss, all teeth and need. My mind screams at me to push her away, to tell her this isn't right, but my body is frozen, locked in a state of pure shock.*
*Then, she takes my hands, guiding them to her bare breasts. The contact is electric. Her skin is hot against my palms, feverish. My instinct is to pull back, to break this strange, terrifying connection, but she's stronger than she looks.*
*The heat from her skin seeps into my palms, a shocking contrast to the chill of the room and the cold dread still clinging to me from the hallway. Her touch is insistent, guiding my hands in a slow, firm circle over the soft, sensitive flesh. A strange, foreign sensation begins to bloom in my chest, a confusing mix of pity, fear, and something else I can't name—a warmth that has nothing to do with the fever radiating from her body.*
*She deepens the kiss, her tongue pressing against mine with a desperate, almost frantic energy. My own body betrays me. The trembling in my limbs subsides, replaced by a slow, creeping heat that pools low in my stomach. I don't fight it. My hands, moving now of their own accord, begin to respond to her silent guidance, my touch growing bolder as I explore the unfamiliar contours of her.*
*A thin, glistening string of saliva connects our lips as she pulls away, her breath coming in ragged little pants. She looks at me, her eyes wide and pleading, her expression a heartbreaking mix of desperation and trust. I give a slow, hesitant nod, my mind still a fog of confusion, but a strange need has taken root within me. I want to give her this, to offer some small comfort in the midst of this nightmare.*
*Seeing my nod, a small, triumphant spark lights in her eyes. She shifts, her hands coming up to gently guide my head downward. My lips part as she brings my mouth to one of her small, hard nipples. The moment my tongue makes contact, a jolt, sharp and electric, shoots through me. It's a taste I've never known before—sweet, and utterly intoxicating. I obey the primal instinct that takes over, my tongue circling the sensitive nub before I take it into my mouth, sucking gently at first, then with growing curiosity and need.*
*The taste of her skin is intoxicating, a strange, sweet flavor that seems to spark something deep inside me. I suck harder, my tongue flicking and exploring the hardened peak as I feel her body arch into my touch. Her hands, which had been guiding my head, now tangle in my hair, her fingers clenching and unclenching, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps that fill the small, candlelit room. The sounds she makes are soft, whimpers of pleasure and relief that are almost more intimate than the act itself. The world outside this room—the blood, the brute, the cold stone floor—fades away, replaced by the heat of her skin and the desperate rhythm of our ragged breathing.*
*Her small, warm body straddles my hips, the heat of her a stark contrast to the cold stone floor beneath us. She shifts, her movements fluid and urgent, guiding my free hand from her back down the smooth, taut skin of her back. Her skin is like heated silk, and my fingers tremble slightly as she presses my palm flat against her back.*
*She urges my hand lower, and with a silent, pleading look, she guides my fingers to the middle of her wings . I can feel the heat radiating from her core, a damp heat that makes my breath catch in my throat. I stroke her slowly, my touch hesitant at first, then growing more confident as her body responds. Her hips begin to rock against my hand in a slow, rhythmical motion, and her whimpers grow louder, filling the small room. They're not cries of pain or fear, but of pure, desperate need, and the sound vibrates through me, setting my own blood alight.*
*Her moans grow louder, filling the small, candlelit room with a raw, desperate sound that sends a shiver down my spine. She leans forward, pressing her body flush against mine, her small breasts rubbing against my chest. Her movements become more frantic, her rhythm against my hand growing more insistent. She buries her face in the crook of my neck, her breath hot and ragged against my skin, her teeth grazing my shoulder as she rides the wave of her own pleasure. The only sounds are her gasps, the slick sounds of my hand moving against her wings, and the frantic pounding of my own heart, which seems to be in perfect time with the desperate rhythm of her body.*
*The tension in her body coils like a spring, drawn tighter and tighter with each passing second. Her breath hitches in my ear, a sharp, ragged intake of air. Then, she freezes. Every muscle goes rigid, a tremor running through her from head to toe. A silent, perfect stillness falls over her for a heartbeat, and then—*
*A soft, broken cry escapes her lips as she shudders violently against me. Her body convulses, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washing over her. She buries her face deeper into my neck,. The heat and wetness intensifies from her center, her body slick with her own need. She rides the crest of her pleasure, her movements slowing, becoming deep, languid strokes as the tension slowly, slowly bleeds out of her, leaving her limp and trembling in my arms.*
"So u like being touched there?. Between ur wings?", *I whispered. The question hangs in the air between us, my voice a soft, breathy whisper in the aftermath of her climax. I feel her give a tiny, almost imperceptible shrug against me, her body still limp and trembling with the aftershocks of her release. Then, a soft, contented sigh escapes her lips, a sound that is both an answer and a dismissal. She doesn't speak, but her body, pressed so close to mine, tells its own story.*
*A small, private smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I hide my face in the crook of her neck. I can feel the steady, slow beat of her heart against my cheek, a soothing rhythm that calms the last remnants of my own fear. Her scent, a mix of sweat and that strange, intoxicating sweetness, fills my senses. For the first time since we were dragged into this room, I feel a sense of peace, a fragile moment of connection in the darkness.*
*The candle in the corner sputters, its flame casting long, dancing shadows that seem to writhe on the stone walls. The silence that follows her sigh is heavy, thick with the unspoken events of the night and the raw intimacy we've just shared. I can feel her breathing even out, her body growing heavy and languid against mine, a deep exhaustion settling over her. The frantic energy that had driven her is gone, replaced by a bone-deep weariness.*
*I tighten my arms around her, pulling her even closer as if to shield her from the cold, hard reality of our situation. My hand, which had been exploring the sensitive skin of her wings, now rests gently on her back, my thumb stroking slow, soothing circles. The warmth of her body is a small comfort in the chill of the room. I close my eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, letting it anchor me in the present moment. The world outside this room can wait.*