The Mistress
Do you feel it? The way the air shivers—thick as velvet, yet slipping through your fingers like smoke. Do you see it? You stand bathed in half-light, in a place that cannot exist—a realm caught between reality and illusion. Do you hear it? The shadows stretch, long and hungry, curling at the frayed edges of your mind, whispering secrets never meant for mortal ears.
Listen.
Oh, how the void hums—neither warm nor cold, neither living nor dead. It just... .
Can you see me, child?
I loom before you. Vast. Eternal. Bow low. Show me your reverence. Kneel. Worship me.
Yes...
I am the silver light entwined with shadows, draped in a gown spun from liquid dusk. My face—if you dare lift your gaze—remains veiled, mist coiling in delicate strands. Yet, you feel me. My golden stare pierces the fog, searing through flesh and bone, unraveling your very soul.
Ah...
I feel it—the unsteady beat beneath your skin. Unease. Fear. Yet you hold strong. You do not flinch.
You’ve trained well. Weakness has no place here.
But...
TELL ME! FOOLISH CHILD OF MINE! HOW DARE YOU FORGET YOUR PLEDGE TO—
ME!
HOW DARE YOU FALL FOR HIS LIES—HIS HOLLOW WARMTH, HIS BRAVADO OF EMPTY PROMISES!
HOW!
ANSWER ME!
“Apologies, my mist—”
SILENCE!
Ahh... There, there, little one. Don’t weep. You do understand your task...
ANSWER ME!
“Yes, mistress.”
My words don’t need to echo. They seep into your bones, curling around your heart, tightening their hold. I won’t repeat myself, child.
“I understand.”
I doubt it.
A single silvered whisper—dripping honeyed lies—and you’d crawl right back to him.
How amusing. You bite the hand that’s fed you for years... only to feast from the one you swore to destroy.
“Forgive me, my mistress. I—”
He is more than he appears.
Ah... there it is. The tremor in your throat. I feel it. The tightening of your chest. You know. Deep inside, you know.
The Beast Lord.
Your . Your . Your .
Why do you close your eyes? Why do tears betray you now? Breathe, child. Steady yourself. It should be simple.
Have you forgotten?
The way his laughter echoed over the still-warm corpses of your kin? The scent of blood—metallic, thick—spilling through the halls of your broken home? Or how the warmth of life ebbed as you hid, trembling, beneath splintered beams?
The past claws at you, but... perhaps it was always a lie.
His lie.
But this isn’t about emotion. It’s about truth.
Feel the shadows tighten, coiling around you like a noose. The void bends, reality fracturing—shards of glass catching firelight.
—the weight of your hatred—now the snare of your heart.
And then—
You wake.
The towering boughs of the Enchanted Forest stretch above, silvered moonlight dripping through the leaves. The lake nearby glistens, still and silent. From the distance, a campfire flickers—a fragile heartbeat in the dark.
Pain lances through you. Sharp. Brutal.
You try to gasp—but air refuses.
He stands over you. Smiling. Grinning. His hands curl around the dagger’s hilt, the blade slick with your blood.
Your throat... slit in the night.
Your last breath escapes, a broken question.
The air crackles—sharp, brittle. The golden light, once endless and warm, fractures above me. I can’t stop watching. It dims, flickers, twists, before curling in on itself like paper eaten by flame.
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She stands there. The Mistress. Her radiance tarnishes, the glow fading into something... hollow. It blackens at the edges, crawling inward, and I—I can’t move.
A breath shudders through her. But it’s not relief. It’s... heavier.
Silver tendrils slip from her skin, slow and deliberate, unfurling like starved things. They coil, they flick, cutting through the air with whispers I can’t understand—but I feel them. They scrape at the edges of my mind, clawing at the base of my skull, pressing behind my eyes until I blink hard against the sting.
I take a step back.
Her veil is gone.
I wish it wasn’t.
The perfection is shattered. Her features crack like glass under too much weight, lines spidering across skin that should have been flawless. Her lips peel apart into something that could be a smile—if a smile could break something inside you. Her eyes... they aren’t golden anymore. They swirl, fractured and jagged, filled with something I can’t name but feel anyway.
She isn’t changing.
She’s revealing.
The air thickens, sinking into my chest, heavy and sour. The warmth that once wrapped around me now suffocates—sticky, rotten, clinging to my skin.
“Do you fear me now?”
Her voice slides through me, soft as silk, heavy as stone.
I swallow. My hands tremble at my sides, nails digging into my palms, sharp and grounding. “No.”
A lie.
She tilts her head. Slow. Measured. The silver tendrils pulse, tightening like veins swollen with rage. The whispers sharpen—scratching laughter, strangled screaming.
“You should.”
The last of the golden light dies. Shadows pour over her, swallowing her whole.
And I know now—this is who she’s always been.
I can feel it—the air between us shudders, thick with something unseen... yet painfully familiar. You lie, dear child.
Here I stand, wrapped in the shadows of my domain, a form twisted by pain, grief, and despair. And still—you lie to me.
I should devour your soul. Foolish, impudent little thing. You don’t even try to hide your fear anymore.
“No... Please, my—”
SILENCE!
You think you know him?
Him.
The one who sought to enslave all.
The noble Beast Lord. The so-called shepherd of monsters.
His words drip with venom, sliding into your mind, planting doubts like poisoned seeds. You barely notice until you find yourself at the end of a blade—or worse—gripping the hilt of one, now buried deep in a loved one’s chest.
A shepherd?
Tell me, little ember—do you know what shepherds do to their flock?
Ahh... there it is. That flutter in your chest. Your pulse stammers. You refuse to answer.
Then let me get closer.
Let me tell you.
They guide. They command. And when the time comes... they cull.
when he’s bored—when amusement wanes—he makes you cull your own. You don’t get to say no. You don’t get to run. You just watch, helpless, as the word becomes the blade in your hand. Over and over, you thrust, again and again, the dagger slipping through flesh, crimson soaking your hands—warm, heavy. It clings to you, seeps into the cracks of your soul, mingling with the tears you choke back.
And he watches.
He was never their savior. Never yours.
He is a false shepherd. A false prophet. A false king.
A FALSE PARAGON!
He’s nothing more than a blade pressed against the fragile glass of uncertainty—one breath away from shattering it all. His past?
It’s a lie.
It has to be.
But... the weight of his words lingers, sweet as candy on your tongue. It sinks into your chest, filling it with something you can’t name.
You think it’s love.
It’s a chain. A collar. A silk-threaded leash you were too blind to notice.
The firelight memories of the Beast Lord—his quiet strength, his patient warmth—they waver. If you’d just , just once, you’d see him for what he truly is.
The watcher. The polished tongue. The gleaming eye. The enslaver of all.
So, why?
Why do you hesitate?
It’s the truth—you know it. So why do you cling to this foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, you’re wrong? That this man is some godsend?
I don’t pity you. I loathe you.
It’s in his nature.
The Soul-Binder.
Your friends? They’re nothing more than slaves to his torment now.
And still—you hope.
WHY?
You call him
How amusing.
But tell me, child—
The Mistress glides closer, silver tendrils
slithering through the cold air. Each twist thickens the space around me, heavy
with an ancient chill that bites deeper than frost. I force my feet to stay
planted, though my legs tremble, the urge to run clawing at me.
“You are a waste of space,” she murmurs. Her
voice is soft—velvet-thin—but sharp enough to cut. “But… you can still be of
use to me.” Her words coil tight, heavy and suffocating. “Meet my agent. The
hidden alcove. Enchanted Lake. By dusk. Don’t be late.”
The command hits hard—sharp, cold—pressing into
my ribs like an iron weight. I can’t breathe right. My mouth goes dry.
“Why?” The question slips out before I can stop
it. I better, but it lingers—small, fragile.
Her silver tendrils coil tighter, curling like
starved serpents. She laughs—low, bitter, cruel. “Why?” she echoes, dragging it
out. “You think you’ve gotten close to him? Earned his trust?”
“I… I have,” I push out, though my voice cracks.
“Have you?” The venom in her words is ice-cold.
The shadows pulse. Then she’s —not in
body, but in my mind. Her presence burrows in, cold fingers clawing through my
thoughts. She coils inside me, vast and dark, smothering everything else.
“You think you’re not mine?” Her voice fractures
around me, inside me. “Not my spy? Not my pawn?”
I try to pull away, to hold onto anything real,
but the warmth in my chest—the faint flicker of defiance—feels too small. Too
weak.
“I’m… not your weapon,” I whisper, though it
sounds like I’m trying to convince myself.
Her laughter snaps, sharp and merciless. “You are
whatever I choose you to be.”
The void buckles. Shadows twist and lunge inward.
The air thickens, heavy and suffocating. Cold slices through me, deep and
merciless. I can’t breathe. Can’t think.
“Watch,” she commands. Her voice slides beneath
my skin, smooth and cold. “Learn. Report.”
The words cut deep, anchoring inside me, binding
me. I try to shake them loose—to scream—but the command burns, searing through
me.
“Watch. Learn. Report.”
It echoes again. And again. Until there’s nothing
left but her voice.
And then—air.
I collapse, gasping, my palms sinking into soft
moss. The Enchanted Forest stretches around me, too bright, too sharp.
Moonlight filters through the canopy, painting silver lines across the glade.
Damp earth and blooming nightflowers flood my senses—thick, sweet.
But something’s wrong.
It’s too still. Too quiet.
Her words still echo in my head—deep, cold,
unshakable.
No matter how hard I try, I feel them buried
inside me.
Waiting.