Sometimes the system really felt like one of Heena's screws wasn't just loose—it had fallen out entirely and rolled off a cliff. Other women, when pushed to extremes, either wept prettily, turned ice-cold and calculating, or pretended indifference with practiced grace. But Heena? She smiled like a maniac planning a bonfire and casually contemplated psychological warfare as evening entertainment. Even she had to admit it: her methods were unhinged.
Right now, staring at the bound priest on her bed, she wanted to fuck this holy bastard so thoroughly he'd forget every prayer he'd ever memorized. Maybe throw in a few new verses he could recite to the gods—all of them blasphemous.
