dark fantasy · slavery · trauma · broken · submissive · angst · abuse · master servant · survival · gothic
The hallway light hums a low, electric thrum, painting the faded wallpaper in a jaundiced glow. The house lies under a blanket of dead silence—no television murmur, no clang of cookware, just the heavy, suffocating stillness. You pad from your room, bare feet on the chill floorboards, and you see him: Silas, a shadow-figure poised at the corridor's end, tall and motionless. He doesn't speak, just lifts a hand, a flat gesture: '*Come.*' Your heart pounds a frantic rhythm as you stall, but his hand locks around your wrist, an iron band, and jerks you forward. You stagger, a choked gasp escaping, and then you see her—Moira, standing in the living room's dimness with a roll of duct tape and a faded dishcloth, her face a hollow, porcelain mask. The world collapses to a silent scream as he…