The Fallen Light

“See?” he whispered, his voice a twisted mockery of kindness. “Obey, and I’ll give you something more than pain.”

Her wings remained still, the threat of the candles rooting her in place. She felt his fingers again, igniting a strange heat she couldn’t name. A soft moan escaped her lips, unbidden, and the warlock’s grin widened.

“There it is,” he said, his tone triumphant. He intensified his touch, drawing her into a haze of sensation she couldn’t escape. Her body betrayed her, responding despite her fear, until a shuddering wave crashed through her – her first taste of mortal ecstasy.

She slumped against the table, exhausted, her breath ragged. The warlock stepped back, watching her collapse into herself, a cruel satisfaction settling over him. He unbound her wrists, letting her sink to the floor.

“Good,” he said coldly. “You’re learning.”

Lirien curled into herself, her wings wrapping around her like a cocoon. She didn’t speak, her mind reeling from the onslaught of pain and pleasure. The warlock retrieved a sack from the corner, pulling it over her head and tying it loosely at her neck.

“Rest now,” he said, his voice distant. “You’ll need your strength.”

He left her there, the sack muffling her senses, trapping her in darkness. Days blurred together – she couldn’t tell how long he was gone. The cold seeped into her bones, hunger gnawed at her, and the isolation pressed against her spirit. As a seraph, she’d never been alone; now, the solitude was a torment she couldn’t name.

When he returned, he yanked the sack away, the sudden light blinding her. She gasped, gulping air as he loomed over her.

“Miss me?” he asked, a mocking lilt in his voice. He offered her a scrap of bread soaked in water, pressing it to her lips.

She took it weakly, her voice a rasp. “Don’t… leave me again… please…”

He chuckled, feeding her another bite. “Then you’ll serve me. Be mine completely – my slave, my shadow. Agree, and you’ll never be alone.”

Her eyes fluttered, exhaustion pulling at her. “I’ll… stay with you… no pain… please…”

The warlock smiled, a predator’s gleam in his eyes. From his belt, he produced five metal bands – four for her wrists and ankles, one for her throat. Forged in dark rites, they shimmered with a faint, sickly hue. He fastened them onto her, their weight a permanent claim.

“You’re mine forever,” he said, lifting her chin. “No escape, no return. Just me.”

She nodded faintly, too weak to resist, as he poured a trickle of water into her mouth. Her consciousness wavered, but the bands held her fast – a prisoner in a body she didn’t choose.

He hoisted her to her feet, steadying her as she swayed. “Time to move,” he said, attaching a rope to the collar and leading her outside. The night air bit at her skin, her wings shivering against her back. His black horse waited, and he tied the rope to the saddle, mounting with a practiced ease.

They rode into the darkness, her stumbling behind, the rope a lifeline and a chain. At a shallow stream, he paused, loosening the tether.

“Clean yourself,” he ordered, gesturing to the water.

Lirien knelt by the stream, the cold soothing her battered body. She washed the grime and pain away, her movements slow and deliberate, unashamed under his gaze. She drank deeply, a faint smile breaking through her weariness.

The warlock watched, his expression unreadable. This was no act of mercy – she was his possession, polished for his pride. He tugged the rope.

“Enough,” he said. “We ride on.”

She rose, water dripping from her wings, and followed him into the night – a seraph bound to a mortal’s will, her future a shadowed path at his side.

Image is illustrative. View Source.