The Fallen Light

He wouldn’t let her go.

Her words sparked a fear of loss he hadn’t considered. In his arrogance, he’d assumed she’d come to fight him, only thwarted by his cunning. Love and comfort were alien to him, meaningless in his world.

Stepping back, he drank in her naked form. The cabin’s low ceiling forced her wings tight against her back.

“You’ve seen too much,” he declared, his hand cupping her cheek. “You’re mine now – my prize, my possession.” The words surprised even him, echoing a buried longing her light had briefly touched.

She stood silent, unshamed by her nudity, her innocence unshaken despite her fear. Her wings twitched restlessly, revealing her flawless body in the dim light.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice clear and steady. “You gave me this body, bound me, hurt me. Why?”

The warlock paused. What did he want? Power had driven him to summon a shadow servant, to spill innocent blood. Now, faced with her, he grappled with an answer.

Stepping behind her, he ran a hand over her skin, testing her reality. “Do you have a name?” he murmured.

She hesitated, then replied, “In your tongue… it’s hard to say. You might call it… Lirien.”

“Lirien,” he breathed, his touch lingering as he circled her, consumed by her ethereal beauty and the dark possibilities she represented.

The warlock’s fingers traced the contours of her wings, their softness a stark contrast to the roughness of his calloused hands. He stepped back, his mind churning with plans. This seraph, fallen into his grasp, was no mere accident – she was a trophy, a tool to wield against the world. He would break her, mold her into something he could command.

“Stay here,” he muttered, turning to rummage through a battered chest in the corner. He returned with a length of coarse rope, tying it around her bound wrists with a practiced knot. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Her blue eyes followed him, wide and uncomprehending, as he secured the other end to a rusted iron ring bolted to the wall. She didn’t resist, her body still adjusting to its newfound weight and frailty.

He left her there, stepping outside to breathe the crisp night air and gather his thoughts. The forest was silent, save for the rustle of leaves in the wind. His horse snorted nearby, tethered to a gnarled tree. The warlock’s mind raced – he needed to understand what he’d summoned, to test the limits of her power and his control.

Hours passed before he returned. Lirien lay where he’d left her, her wings folded awkwardly beneath her, her breathing shallow. The straw beneath her was damp with silent tears. She stirred as he approached, her gaze lifting to meet his.

“You’re still here,” he said, his tone mocking. “Good.”

She blinked, her voice a faint whisper. “Where… would I go?”

The warlock smirked, crouching beside her. “Nowhere, unless I say so. You’re mine now, Lirien. My servant. My… prize.” He reached out, tilting her chin with the tip of his riding crop. “Do you understand what that means?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came at first. Then, haltingly, “I… don’t know. Why am I here?”

“Because I called you,” he snapped, standing abruptly. “And you’ll learn your place.” He struck the crop against the floor, the sharp crack making her flinch. “Get up.”

She struggled to obey, her legs trembling as she rose. The rope tugged at her wrists, keeping her tethered to the wall. Her wings shifted, knocking a cracked mug from the table, and it shattered on the floor.

The warlock’s eyes darkened. “Clumsy wretch!” he roared, seizing her arm and forcing her toward the table. “You’ll learn obedience, even if I have to beat it into you.”

He shoved her forward, bending her over the table’s edge. Her wings flared instinctively, sweeping a rusty lantern to the ground. The warlock ducked, his fury boiling over. He grabbed the crop and lashed it across her back, leaving a red stripe against her pale skin.

Lirien gasped, her body jerking under the blow. “Please… no…” she whimpered, her voice breaking.

“Quiet!” he barked, striking again. He bound her wrists to the table legs with the rope, securing her in place. Her wings sagged, their tips brushing the dirt floor. “You’ll speak when I tell you to.”

He stepped back, retrieving two candles from the chest. Lighting them, he held one near her face, the flame dancing in her terrified eyes. “Move those wings again, and these go on them. You’ll burn if you disobey. Understand?”

She nodded faintly, her breath hitching. “Yes… please, no fire…”

Satisfied, he placed the candles on the table, just out of her reach, their flickering light casting shadows across her trembling form. He circled behind her, his hands roaming over her exposed skin, tracing the welts he’d left.

“You’re mine to shape,” he murmured, his fingers dipping lower, teasing her with a gentleness that belied his cruelty. “Relax, and you might find this… pleasant.”

Lirien’s eyes squeezed shut, tears slipping free as his touch stirred unfamiliar sensations. She didn’t understand – the pain, the warmth, the confusion swirling within her. Her body tensed, every muscle taut, as he explored her further, his breath hot against her neck.