Natazia drifted in the void, seeking refuge in the cold, empty place where she tried to hide from him. In this desolate sanctuary, their insults and touches brushed against her awareness like faint whispers on the wind. She took solace in the numbness, knowing that neither their words, their blows, nor their thrusts could match the blizzard that he was.
In this space, time stretched into an eternity or contracted into a fleeting moment. Time marched to its own beat and Natazia was not privy to the song.
Far away, on the other side where things could be warm but never were, a melody played—a perfect song that this imperfect world didn’t deserve.
You used to love music, she remembered. Once upon a time, a little girl with a shaved head danced by the fire, her spirit brighter than the flames. She heard the rhythm of Jaxton’s drum, the strumming of Zalver’s lute, Quanix’s gentle harp, and Xillia’s chilling voice. She sang along to her parents’ melody, her voice lifting with joy as she felt capable of anything. Where had that girl gone?
The memory faded, leaving a void even deeper than before. She knew the answer. Him. That little girl full of life, eager to soar on dragon’s wings, had gone to him. The thought of his name, which she dared not think, loomed in the abyss, pulling her back to the nightmare she couldn’t escape.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
His face emerged from the darkness, a specter that shattered her fragile sanctuary. Pain seeped through the cracks, dragging her back to his domain. He had found her again. He always would.
Natazia screamed, another plea unheard among the thousands before. Her body convulsed, every nerve on fire as she fought against invisible chains. Champions with blind eyes, knights too afraid to fight him, warriors too grateful it wasn’t them—they had all abandoned her to him. She was alone in his hell, marked by his brand, his words cutting even deeper than his blades. You belong to me.
She couldn’t escape him; she never could. Nothingness became everything, and everything became him. The sound of his voice, cruelty masked as false tenderness, his overpowering musk, the taste of her own blood from his biting kiss, his dominating touch pressing her into submission again and again—the face of sculpted ice with the thinnest of smiles as he whispered, “You are nothing without me.”
Natazia fought him, just as he wanted, but no amount of thrashing and screaming changed her fate. It never did. She would never be more than the frozen nothingness he made of that little girl dancing by the flames, but she clung to the flickering light within her, a fragile hope that perhaps, one day, she could find her way back to the warmth.