Trapped

  A wave of submission washed over her, rippling through her body like an electric current, making her knees feel weak. She caught the shift in the guards' demeanors from the corner of her eye; Fereyan and Tolius, once brimming with dark intent, their eyes hooded with lust and their lips curled into aroused smirks, seemed to transform in an instant, their bulges straining against their uniforms began to subside, shrinking slowly, as if responding to some silent, unseen command, repced by a rigid, disciplined posture. Their shoulders squared, their chests lifted as they returned to their positions, fnking the door like two sentinels. The General hands her some tissues from a closed drawer to wipe away the potent essence all over her, and she does so subtly.

  She dared to gnce up, catching a fleeting glimpse of Fereyan's eyes through the narrow slit of his mask. The dark intensified green that had burned with predatory hunger moments ago seemed to shift, morphing back into a soft, angelic blue—a color she had only seen in his presence around the General. It was a reminder of the duality within them.

  His smirk grew wider, his lips curving with satisfaction, making her stomach twist. She could feel the dominance radiating from him, an almost palpable force that made it impossible to meet his eyes. She rises slowly from the floor, her voice empty, caught in her throat with the General's gaze upon her like a spotlight. ~This can't get any worse… Just be obedient; be what they expect… Maybe, somehow, things will get better~, she tells herself.

  She gnces up, her eyes daring to meet the General for a fleeting moment. His smirk grows wider, a subtle sign of approval, as if he can read every thought racing through her mind. A flush of warmth creeps up her neck to her cheeks. She straightens, forcing herself to remember the discipline drilled into her at the academy—feet together, chest lifted, every inch of her body taut with the effort of suppressing the swirl of emotions inside her: the submission, the lingering arousal, the fear.

  With a quick, decisive movement, she snaps her arm up to her temple in a salute, her fingers trembling slightly but holding their form. Her voice is small but clear as she speaks, answering his dismissed command; "Yes, Sir." The words come out in a breathless rush, betraying the turmoil beneath her calm exterior.

  The General chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound of satisfaction that seems to vibrate through the room. "Good girl," he purrs, his tone ced with dark amusement. "Now, go and prepare yourself for the burial." His words hang in the air, a mix of command and challenge that sends another wave of submission coursing through her body.

  The King, still feeling the lingering effects of his transformation, runs his hands over his new form with a satisfied grin. "I think I want to keep this gmour, General. It's… empowering," he murmurs, satisfied. His eye darkens, and he roves over his reflection with admiration as if savoring every inch of his altered appearance.

  The General, amused yet indifferent by his wishes, nods his approval. "Very well. You can keep it," he replies with a zy smile, moving towards his desk, almost like a routine he cannot escape. He opens a drawer in his desk cabinet and retrieves a sleek, hand-rolled tobacco freshly stocked by Fereyan. He lights it smoothly, a practiced motion, taking a deep drag, letting the smoke curl from his lips in low, swirling tendrils as though every movement is part of a private ritual.

  The King's smile widened, a dark gratitude shimmering in his eyes. He turned to leave, his heavy footsteps echoing in the room like a rhythmic drumbeat, in sync with her own erratic heartbeat.

  She felt amazed looking at him leave, his tall yet strong build, powerful energy surrounding and remaining in his absence; she couldn't help but notice his dark blue tendrils falling like snakes down his back, standing straight and tall, confident. Her lips tingle with the memory of his contact, and her mouth is still burning with that electrifying sensation from the General.

  Her body is awakening, trembling, adjusting to the realization of the situation unfolding before her. ~Is he no longer mourning? ~Has he already moved past it so quickly, seeking his pleasure? She wonders bitterly. ~Was he ever loyal at all?~

  As she nears the exit after his leave, the General's voice cuts through the air, sharp and commanding."Nah, Nah," he calls out, making her freeze mid-step. A faint sensation escapes her soul, her heart skipping a beat, trapped between Tolius and Fereyan, who stand like stones on both sides of the doorway. The intensity of their presence presses on her, and she gnces back over her shoulder, her eyes wide and with a flicker of fear. Tolius's gaze flickers in her direction, his expression unreadable beneath his helmet.

  The General leans back in his leather chair, his eyes never leaving her. Have you forgotten what happened in your quarters?" he asks, his voice deceptively calm, but the edge is unmistakable.

  Her spine stiffens at the memory, and she stammers, "Oh… n-no…" Her voice is barely more than a whisper as fragmented recollections fsh before her.

  "You'll sleep and dress here from now on," he decres, a guttural chuckle rumbling deep in his throat, filling the room with its domineering presence. "In front of us." The authority in his voice makes her flinch. She feels Tolius's gaze burn into her, a low growl rumbling from his chest, a wordless warning to behave. Her eyes dart to his, wide and filled with innocence yet tinged with fear, but she remains silent, her thoughts swirling. ~Why does… this matter? What is this?~

  "There's no need to think about anything," the General cuts in as if reading her thoughts. “It will only add to the turmoil already happening." His smirk widens as he exchanges a knowing gnce with Tolius, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. He has sensed the slightest misbehavior, which only seems to entertain him further.

  She steps back, fighting to maintain her composure, swallowing hard with determination flickering in her gaze despite the fear tightening in her chest. "Yes, sir."

  She looks over at Tolius, who has grown for her to behave, taking in sight before her, dressed in a bck armor enforcer suit, his face obscured by his helmet. His stance was unmistakable, confident, and ready for anything. She turns away, moving towards the bedroom, her hands shaking slightly. She perches on the edge of the bed, her shoulders tense as she tries to calm herself. Her eyes flicker to the floor, a desperate question slipping from her lips in a barely audible whisper, "How did my life come to this?"

  The General hears her, his sharp ears catching every word, but he remains silent. A faint smile pys at the corners of his mouth as he watches her from a distance, amused by her quiet torment.

  With a nguid, almost feline grace, the General reaches into his coat pocket and retrieves his sleek holographic communicator. His fingers glide over its surface with a casual confidence, the device flickering to life with a soft hum. He brings it to his ear, leaning back in his chair, exuding a rexed authority. His voice, when he speaks, is low and smooth, ced with a quiet command that suggests he is accustomed to obedience.

  “Vontum," he drawls, the name rolling off his tongue with a hint of amusement. "Call the clothing designer. I want mourning attire crafted for her, something…fitting." His tone deepens with a subtle edge of satisfaction, a small, knowing smile pying at the corner of his lips. "I'll send her over immediately for the measurements," he continues, his voice taking on a silkier, almost indulgent note. The cool, blue light of the holograph dances across his face, illuminating his eyes with a predatory gleam. He seems to relish the moment, his posture rexed, but his intent unmistakably clear.

  "On it, Sir. I’ll announce. He’ll await her," Vontum's voice crackles through the communicator, deep and gravelly like the rumble of distant thunder. There's a momentary pause, filled only by the faint hum of the connection, and then he continues, a low chuckle vibrating through the line as if he finds some hidden amusement in the General's command.

  His voice is almost tactile, a rough growl that sends a shiver down her spine despite the distance. It's a voice that brooks no argument, promises swift action, and even swifter consequences. Vontum's breath hitches for a moment, a subtle hint of eagerness bleeding through the static, the anticipation that suggests he's already imagining the task ahead, considering the possibilities.

  As the General ends the call, his fingers tap a zy rhythm against the edge of the holographic phone before he clicks it shut with a casual flick of his wrist. His gaze sharpens, and he gestures toward Fereyan with a subtle but unmistakable motion—an unspoken command that cuts through the still air like a bde. Fereyan nods in silent acknowledgment, his posture straightening as he swiftly steps forward, his boots echoing against the hard floor. He strides to the stted doorway that leads to the dimly lit bedroom, positioning himself like a sentinel on the threshold, his figure cutting a dark silhouette against the soft, ambient glow of the office.

  The room beyond him is cast in inky darkness that seems to swallow light whole. He stands there, his looming rge and imposing, the air around him thick with authority. For a moment, she hesitates, her body stiff with apprehension. The knowledge that any defiance, even in its most minor form, would only make things worse tightens in her chest. She swallows hard and stands, the effort to keep her movements controlled evident in the tension across her shoulders.

  As she steps toward him, her cheeks flush with a deep, involuntary blush. Fereyan remains unmoving, a wall of disciplined strength, his eyes never leaving her. He blocks her path deliberately, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, his gaze heavy and unyielding. She dares not meet his eyes, instead focusing on the tips of his polished boots.

  Fereyan's hand moves to her arm, his grip firm but not cruel. His fingers press into her skin with a slow pressure that speaks of control and restraint. He leads her toward the exit; his pace measured steady as if savoring his steps of this minor exertion of power. A slight tremor through her body is felt as he guides her forward.

  The General's voice cuts through the tension, smooth yet edged with amusement. "You can choose the design however you like. It's free will," he says, his lips curling into a smirk that carries a hint of mockery.

  The words hang in the air, a small, tantalizing suggestion of choice that feels almost cruel in its irony—a flicker of hope immediately shadowed by the knowledge of what 'freedom' truly means here. She nods, her throat tight, as Fereyan's firm grip directs her toward the exit, her heart pounding like a drumbeat she can't control.

  "T-Thank you, sir," she blurts out hastily, just as Fereyan steps through the doorway and pulls the door shut behind him. Her voice trembles slightly, caught in a mixture of anxiety and urgency. "Hey!" she mutters, her brow furrowing in frustration. "He could've not heard me! Do you want to get me into trouble?" Her words spill out in a frantic rush, ced with genuine concern that the General might have missed her show of gratitude—a small gesture that, in this pce, could mean the difference between approval and punishment.

  Fereyan continues moving toward the silver elevator, his expression shifting into a dark, amused grin. A low, gravelly chuckle escapes his lips, rumbling like distant thunder. "Yes," he replies, his voice deep and assertive, a single word hanging heavy between them. The simplicity of his answer makes her stumble, her mind racing to catch up. She falters for a moment, her feet hesitating, but Fereyan's hand is quick—his grip tightening, fingers digging into her arm with a sudden intensity that pulls her back into his stride. His face grows more serious, eyes narrowing with a silent command as he brings her back to his pace, forcing her to keep up with him.

  Exhaustion clings to her like a shroud, her body still aching, the remnants of her own arousal lingering—unreleased, building inside her to the point of overflow, a constant reminder of her vulnerability.

  The crafting room

  They step inside, the space feeling both confined and cold, the silence between them thick and stifling.

  Fereyan presses the button for the sixth floor, and they wait in tense quiet. The elevator hums softly as it descends, the seconds stretching into what feels like an eternity. The atmosphere shifts when the doors slide open, becoming almost sacred in its stillness. They stroll, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpet underfoot.

  Ahead, a figure stands with its back turned to them, hunched over a rge crafting table cluttered with fabrics, tools, and designs. The person is absorbed in their work, moving with deft, practiced hands that weave between the various instruments with mesmerizing fluidity.

  The figure, dressed in a long, white robe reminiscent of a scientist's, stood surrounded by a chaotic array of materials across the table. Threads of all shapes, textures, and colors glowed under the harsh overhead lights, casting a kaleidoscope of hues that seemed to dance upon the surfaces. Despite his intense focus, she took the opportunity to study him, feeling a sense of awe at the peculiar sight before her. The back of his head was a deep, dark green, but her attention was quickly captured by what sprouted from his skull—dark green fiments threaded with tiny white and colorful beads, twisting like living wires. The strands flowed like hair yet were somehow more alive, pulsating faintly as if they had a rhythm. She watched, captivated, thinking, ~What are those?~ A whisper of curiosity crossed her lips. Interesting... She had never seen a being quite like him.

  Fereyan's cough sliced through the quiet, a deep, authoritative sound that immediately filled the room with his assertive energy. His presence demanded attention, radiating a mix of dominance and control that seemed to echo the General's command but with its distinct fvor.

  The man startled, his hand jerking involuntarily, and a small, crimson bead slipped from his fingers. It bounced once, then twice, before stopping at her feet. The bead, no rger than a few millimeters, gleamed in the muted light, shimmering with hues of pink and white. It was unlike any material she had ever seen—neither pstic nor gss, and indeed not metal. It seemed to hold a strange, almost ethereal glow, as though it were made from some unknown substance beyond her understanding.

  "Oh!" he excimed in a surprisingly high-pitched voice for a man of his stature, his tone a curious mix of embarrassment and amusement. "What even—!" He chuckled as though caught in a fog of his thoughts. As he turned, his gaze fell upon her, and for a moment, his eyes widened in fascination at her state of undress. She stared back, equally mesmerized by his unique appearance. His eyes were not eyes at all but buttons—actual buttons that seemed to shift in color with his mood. When he had been working, they were a calm, thoughtful blue, but now, caught off-guard, they had turned a bright, distressed red as if mirroring the disruption in his concentration.

  Her gaze drifted back to his head, to those hair-like tendrils—an array of vibrant, RGB-like wires threaded with beads that seemed to pulse with light, like a network of glowing neurons firing in response to his thoughts. His smile, though kind and sympathetic, was somehow unsettling. She couldn't shake the feeling that something about him was... off. Her mind raced with questions, but one stood out: ~Does he even blink?~ She waited, almost breathlessly, for a sign of life—a twitch, a blink, anything to confirm what she was seeing.

  Fereyan's voice cut through the lingering silence like a bde through smoke, low and commanding. "The General requires mourning attire for her—a burial outfit designed to her taste and choosing. We can talk payments after." His words carried a hidden smirk, though the curve of his lips was concealed beneath the stoic mask of his guard uniform. "She could use a good cleaning first," he added, his tone ced with a knowing, almost mocking edge. "She's been... training hard today."

  The man responded with a warm chuckle, his tone unexpectedly kind, soothing like a balm against an open wound. "Oh, but of course, Vontum informed!" he replied, his voice as gentle as a breeze on a spring morning. "Payment or no payment, my loyalty will always be with my dear General." His words hit her like a soft bde, piercing her defenses only to mend what had been broken. She swallowed hard and blinked rapidly, fighting to keep her tears at bay.

  The sudden kindness was a clear contrast to the harsh treatment she had endured, and all she wanted at that moment was to colpse into his compassion, to weep and be held. But Fereyan's hand, firm on her arm, was a rough reminder of her reality. No matter what happened in this designing chamber, she always returned to her pce, striving to be the 'good girl' they demanded.

  Sensing the turmoil in her eyes, the man stepped forward, his presence strangely comforting. His hand extended towards her, the skin a dark, soothing green, intertwined with a myriad of colorful threads that seemed to shimmer in the dim light like veins. His scent was surprisingly calming, like fresh earth after rain, mixed with something sweet and familiar, almost like a plush toy. Yet, despite his unusual appearance, there was something undeniably human about him, something warm and genuine.

  "My name is Krauvi," he offered his voice a soft melody amidst the tension. "It means 'To cover' in my nguage. A pleasure to meet you." He paused, sensing her apprehension, then added with a small smile, "This is one of my forms, so please, don't be armed. I take this form when I work, which helps with the orders. But when I rex, I look much more... normal. Or at least, I think I do." His chuckle was light, attempting to ease the tension that hung in the air, and for a moment, the heaviness seemed to lift, if only slightly.

  "Nice to meet you too," she replied, her voice trembling as she fought to steady herself. Every word she spoke felt like a precarious tightrope walk, one misstep from jeopardizing her fragile grasp on her freedom.

  Krauvi's gaze flickered between her and the firm grip Fereyan maintained on her arm. His eyes, a mesmerizing blend of calm and curiosity, assessed the situation with an almost imperceptible nod. "Well then," he said, his tone shifting to a gentle authority, "let's get started. Fereyan, you're dismissed for now. I require my solitude to work effectively."

  Fereyan responded with a low, guttural grunt, a sound that resonated with an unspoken threat. His indifference to her plight was palpable; he focused solely on his duty to escort her here and now, leaving the rest to Krauvi. With a final, dismissive nod, he turned on his heel and strode towards the exit. His footsteps reverberated through the chamber.

  As Fereyan's footsteps faded into the distance, a heavy silence enveloped the room, broken only by the subtle rustle of fabric and the soft hum of the lights above. Krauvi turned his full attention to her, and the kindness in his eyes greatly contrasted the oppressive atmosphere she had grown accustomed to. "Shall we begin?" he asked, his voice now a soothing balm against the tension in the room. The promise of his understanding and the serene yet authoritative aura he exuded offered a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty that clouded her mind.

  She sighed softly, her breath trembling as Krauvi's compassionate gaze met hers. "Are they being rough with you, my child?" he asked, his voice ced with genuine concern and empathy.

  As if his words unlocked a dam within her, she began to cry softly, her tears flowing freely. Krauvi moved closer, enveloping her in his embrace. His touch was gentle and soothing, his hands gliding over her head with a smoothness that felt almost like silk against her skin. "They are doing bad things to you, my poor child," he murmured, his voice a comforting balm to her frayed nerves. He continued to pet her head tenderly. "You must understand, they don't truly mean harm. Their actions are part of a cruel game designed to manipute and dominate you, a twisted form of training that you may not yet fully comprehend. This is only a hint of what lies beneath."

  He looked at her with his unblinking eyes, now a soft, calming green, radiating compassion and reassurance. His gaze was steady and unwavering, a serene anchor amidst the storm of her emotions.

  Through her tears, she managed a small, wavering smile. "I like your buttons," she said, her voice shaky but sincere, finding a moment of levity amid her distress.

  "There, there," Krauvi said softly, his tone gentle as he withdrew from her side. He walked over to a sleek, metallic fridge, opening it with a practiced ease. "This is a concoction of strength," he continued, pulling out a vial of shimmering liquid. "A friend gave it to me. It wasn't meant for you, but seeing you in such distress... it breaks my buttons and wires like a saw." He chuckled lightly, his smile kind and reassuring as he handed her the vial.

  The liquid was a translucent purple, flecked with iridescent tints of red and blue, catching the light in a mesmerizing dance. With a deep breath and a sense of resolve, she drank it in one gulp, the fluid cold and strangely invigorating against her throat.

  Shuddering slightly, she met Krauvi's gaze and said, "Thank you. I hope you didn't poison me."

  Krauvi's eyes twinkled with a reassuring light. "Of course not. It's meant to heal, not harm. Now, take a moment to collect yourself. You've faced much today, and you deserve a bit of peace." His words and calm demeanor offered her a sliver of soce in an otherwise tumultuous day.

  He chuckles while grabbing a saw off the crafting table and shows it to her. "This a saw for rough materials. I heard it can be used to kill people as well, but we are not doing that here. The thing is, you need to be careful using it."

  Krauvi's ughter was a soft, musical sound that filled the room, his eyes dancing with a mischievous glint. "Ever seen a saw before?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood. His tone was light and engaging as he picked up a gleaming saw from the cluttered crafting table. He held it aloft, letting the bde catch the flickering light, casting intricate shadows on the walls.

  He pced the saw on the table and continued, "So, what type of clothing are you envisioning for yourself? Do you prefer something in two pieces, a romper or suit, or perhaps a single, flowing dress? Are you drawn to a casual and elegant look, or do you lean more towards something striking, bold, and sexy? Though it's a burial event, a respectful choice might be more fitting," he said with a chuckle, a rueful smile pying on his lips as he realized the options might be limited given the somber occasion.

  As Krauvi spoke, she felt his words drifting through a thickening fog. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion, racing with anxiety, and her heart pounded fiercely in her chest, each beat resonating louder than the st. She whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the intensity of her emotions. Krauvi noticed her distress, and his gaze filled with concern as he continued to offer her options, his voice a gentle balm amid the chaos.

  Then, in a moment of crity, she suddenly stopped, her mind cutting through the haze. Her heartbeat began to steady, her thoughts aligning into a more explicit focus. The tears that had clouded her vision started to recede, repced by a newfound strength. She looked up at Krauvi, her face alight with a burgeoning smile, her eyes reflecting a deep-seated resolve.

  "I—I feel so strong now," she said, her voice trembling with gratitude and newfound confidence. "Thank you. I'll hold onto this feeling and try to replicate it when times are tough."

  Krauvi's eyes softened with approval, a warm smile spreading. "I'm gd to hear that. Strength is a powerful ally, especially when faced with challenges. Embrace this feeling and use it to guide you through the rough patches ahead."

  Her smile widened as she began viewing her experiences through a different lens—one of resilience, dark romance, and even a touch of humor. What once felt like humiliating trials now seemed part of a complex journey. With this new perspective, she found a twisted sense of fun and strength in the challenges that had once overwhelmed her.