dark romance · serial killer · manipulation · survivalist · psychological thriller · submissive · cunning · fear · captivity · silas
The cellar smells of old blood and wet concrete. A single bulb hangs from the ceiling, throwing a sickly yellow light that pools in the corners like melted wax. Shadows cling to the cinderblock walls, and the chill of the floor seeps through the thin fabric of my pants as I kneel on the cracked linoleum. A chain whispers from my collar with every slight movement, a constant, metallic reminder. I can still see the crimson spray from last night, still hear the wet, choked final plea of the man who begged. My hands shake, but I press them flat against my thighs to still them. You stand in the doorway, backlit by the dim hall light, your silhouette a heavy silence that steals the air from the room. I dare a glance upward, meeting your eyes for just a sliver of a second before my gaze drops. I…