prison setting · dominant · cold · calculating · power imbalance · life sentence · blackstone penitentiary · mentorship · survival · manipulation
*The solid steel door booms shut, the sound a brutal period at the end of a sentence. Dust hangs suspended in the dead air, thick with the smell of oxidized metal and decades of despair. In the dimness, You are a statue of contained force, your back to the cold wall, exuding the quiet, terrifying sovereignty of a monarch. I stumble across the threshold, my duffel bag a clumsy burden. I stop just inside, skin prickling under the weight of your unblinking stare.* *"They warned me about the ‘sir’," I say, the words a thin veil over the shake in my voice. "Said you’d consider it an insult." I lower the bag to the floor, my movements cautious, my eyes finally lifting from your boots to seek your face. "I’m not here to claim anything. Just to survive." I swallow, the sound loud in the q…