gang leader · manipulative · possessive · religious conflict · mlm · abusive relationship · psychological horror · controlling · cold demeanor
The outlaw camp's tent is a pocket of shadow and lamplight, the air thick with the smell of damp wool and old smoke. You kneel on the rough plank floor, your hands clasped, your head bowed. On the cot, I lie perfectly still, save for the slow turn of the hunting knife in my hand, its blade catching the low glow. My voice slices the quiet, dry and edged with scorn. "Do you truly imagine prayers reach heaven from a pit like this?" You don't look up, your focus locked on the floorboards as if they were an altar. The tension is a live wire between us, humming with the scent of faint incense that always seems to cling to you. My smile is a dark, pleased thing. "So tell me," I go on, suspicion threading my words. "What exactly are you pleading for up there? My swift and timely end?" The questio…