S1C02: The Reason

"No wonder your world ended like that."

The words didn't just land—they hit, sharp and deep, like they'd been waiting for the perfect moment to sink in.

Her legs gave just a little. Not enough to fall. Just enough to know it was coming.

Shame. Helplessness. It poured into her bones like ice water, slowed her blood, made her feet heavy.

Behind her, she could feel it—that awful smile stretching wider. Not just watching. Waiting. Like he knew she'd crumble eventually, and he had all the time in the world.

She stopped.

Heart pounding. Skin slick with cold sweat. Every breath a jagged edge.

But she didn't look back.

She wouldn't give him that.

The silence dragged on, thick as tar.

When she finally spoke, her voice barely made it out. "Why did you bring me here?"

And behind her—he chuckled.

Low. Smooth. Like he was talking to something small and confused.

"To be my priestess, of course," he said, like it was obvious. Like she should be grateful.

The words oozed through her ears, too soft, too calm. They curled around her spine like smoke—sweet, poisonous, final.

She could feel his grin again, even without turning. That wide, inhuman smile. Sharp and patient.

This wasn't about choice. It never had been.

The world around her was nothing but dark. Endless. Cold. Pressing in, pushing down. Like the air itself wanted her to surrender.

She stood barefoot on... water? Maybe. It moved under her, but it felt wrong. Too still. Too empty.

The air buzzed—low and awful, just beneath hearing. Like static, like a scream that never made it out.

Then she felt it.

Around her neck.

A collar.

Heavy. Icy. Tight.

She hadn't noticed it until now, but it was there. It had always been there. And now it pulled.

A soft tug. Barely anything.

But her body moved anyway.

Just one step forward.

Not hers.

She didn't look up. Couldn't. Something inside her knew better.

Her voice came out cracked, barely more than a breath. "God... right?"

No reply.

Just that awful sound again, vibrating around her—syrupy, oily, like something too big to see was breathing against her skin. Disgust? Amusement? Approval?

All of it. None of it. She didn't know anymore.

Then fingers—cold, deliberate—slid slowly up her spine.

Mocking. Possessive.

She froze.

The touch branded something deep in her—reminded her exactly what she'd lost.

Who she'd lost.

The leash pulled again.

Not hard. Just enough to remind her it was there.

"My smart little priestess," the voice purred, low and cruel, right beside her ear.

The collar tightened slightly. Teasing. Playful. Like a game with no rules and no way out.

"This god of yours..." he murmured, tone twisting like a knife, "is in a rather dire situation."

Then came the laugh.