To my sheer delight – and the sheer terror of my sane side – anger radiates from him, the wrath of a tyrant. The purple Miasma thrums with his rage at my mockery, something he has doubtless never felt before in his short existence as the center of this universe, this Tormented zone.

His maggot-like tentacles in place of fingers wrapped around me slowly but surely. The warm pulsating chitin curled around my legs, my neck, and my waist, lifting me up to his face. Bile rises up in my gorge at this compromising, grossly intimate position. He could break all of the bones in my body with a mere twitch of his muscles. Torments have incredible power in all categories from the moment of their existence and yet... he is using this power to purposefully put me into an alluring pose, accentuating my hips and exposing my neck.

It is humiliating.

He grits his huge mouth into a grimace and peers into my peculiar eyes, forcing submission on me. I cannot actually resist. There is nothing I can do against his skill. Managerial Commands is a paltry skill in comparison to his. The sheer weight of his Charisma forces me to bow my head.

However, I can still be incredibly spiteful while I'm at it.

I incline my head quickly to his fingers and with a long lick that singes my tongue with Miasma, slobber all over the tentacle curled around my throat. He promptly drops me in disgust, following the expected storyline even if he is far grosser than my slobbering over him.

It's even for me to understand that it’s the fact that a “lowly peasant” would do such a thing to a “higher being,” that is what disgusts him, even though he had been violating me without even a thought for consent.

I think I broke a rib. Fuck!

We are both caricatures, one of an animal and the other of a King.

I cackle on the ground like a hyena, shrill and maniacal, strumming a bop of a tune, with quick erratic changes in pitch. These are the only sounds that have taken place in this wild, Alice in Wonderland–like situation.

The anger radiating off of him becomes even more palpable. The guards quail in terror, preparing themselves for impending death, probably wishing they killed me instead of bringing me into these royal halls.

Now it is time to change roles to avoid being put down like the dog I am in this story. I stand up fluidly and lean against his massive bulk like we are great, ol’ buddies.

I recalled the emotions of the Miasma when it was doing something mentally to enter me. I drew on the je ne sais quoi of the Jester.

I gesticulate frenetically as if I am leading up to a hilarious joke, a minor tiny smile gracing my lips to build up suspension, all of this taking place in silence. And then I pause, and grin wildly, laughing my ass off.

His response to me completely changes, as if he had completely forgotten my retribution. He joins in with my mime with heaving, slobbering chuckles, his simultaneously emaciated and muscled body shaking silently.

It is all I can do not to get knocked off and sprawled onto the ground. If I did fall... he would probably eat me for the inherent Magic in every human. I move from him and crouch back down into my persona of a wild Anathema.

I must say, I am quite curious as to whether I have actually tricked him into believing my act, or whether I am just pushing the right buttons that makes the Torment fine with me, like I do with everyone.

Regardless, he swiftly turns around, the Miasma forming a fur cloak behind him so it could swish dramatically, a beckoning tentacle gesturing towards me.

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I plod very slowly after him, but it seems like his patience has limits, for a chain flings out of the light surrounding him, cold iron clasping around my throat and dragging me across the background.... or he is just an ass who likes to see his playthings dragged across the ground.

Personally, I am leaning towards the latter.

The chain is making it rather difficult to breathe, but more importantly, he is scuffing my dress. What an arse!

My sane self that split apart from me a little bit ago mentally smacks itself in the face, moaning at my priorities.

I couldn’t care less though. I try smoothing the ruffles futilely while he pulls me like someone dragging a stubborn dog. The halls themselves bend around him, rushing over themselves like churning foam in a waterfall to get The King to his destination.

The King is part of his true name. How do I know that? Well... I have no idea.

I won’t deny I am quite curious as to where we are going, my eyes wide open and inquisitive, grinning at the new scenery, because I am back in my role of an intelligent, but wild, Anathema.

What this role requires though is for me to be bored after a short bit though. I start gnawing gently on the chains in aggravation, my teeth and the metal clinking together. I can feel the shocks of anti-magic run up and down my teeth and I hate it. It feels all weird and vibrate-y.

After a few minutes, far shorter than it took me to travel when the Tormented zone first appeared, we arrive at yet another collection of towering gates, which start opening slowly. Instead of waiting for it to open though, he releases my chain and brutally rips the solid iron doors with casual ease, peeling the gates back like wallpaper.

What is the point of that?! Patience, The King, is a virtue! Also, this chain around my neck is incredibly heavy. I am certainly going to have some bruises under my lace choker tomorrow.

It probably wouldn’t bother me if I wasn’t starving! I haven’t eaten for at least a day and a half. I can feel my stomach growling. Well, a numb, empty stomach is nothing I’m not used to. I skitter awkwardly through the doorway after The King, my tendons groaning and my limbs trembling. My cheek and broken rib are screaming with pain.

*sigh*

They are screaming metaphorically, not literally. It is absurd that I have to specify whether it is metaphorical or literal, but with corruption, they could literally be screaming with pain.

With the mighty earth-shattering steps of the king of ogres; with the perfect pose and inviting body language of the kindest king, he walks across this throne room and sits down primly, hungrily, on his throne.

Like everything else in this world, the throne appears differently, as if through many different lenses and perspectives, which seem to increase in number the longer I stay here. But what matters most to me is that the perspective of solace, of rest in a chair. A pretty basic meaning that does not connect to the theme of The King, but it does connect to that of a throne. Which means I can find safety next to the throne as a pet.

I crawl up the three steps, the mountain full of steps, up to the throne. I can feel the Miasma swirling densely around me at this center of the Torment’s power, caressing me, invading me.

I recognize how the meaning of the Miasma deepened now with so much of the anti-magic permeating my skin, turning me into a monster as I prepare for rest next to the enemy of everything good.

There is still the je ne sais quoi of a bard in rags wooing the world, of a jester talking amicably with a king about the horrors going on under his dictatorial reign couched in humor and crude jokes, of a many-faced noble presenting a thousand personalities.

But there is a side to each that they all share hidden within the intent of the Miasma. A similar scene that connects them all. As I curl up next to the throne and fall asleep, I dream warped nonsensical dreams.

The bard loses herself in hedonistic pleasures, erasing her personality and being surrounded by people. He is always alone and adored by the people whose beds they sneak into with kind, sweet nothings.

The jester is the close confidant of the king, but they cannot confide in anyone, or he will die. She is always alone trying to better things for people who will never know you.

The many-faced noble is friends with everyone, and yet, when he sits down to eat with his family, will she be poisoned that evening by her spouse? They are rightfully paranoid, seeing real and imagined danger everywhere. They are always alone and attacked at any show of weakness.

In my sleep, I mutter “I’m always alone.”