•~Eliar Voss~•

⸻

The room is too quiet. Not silent—controlled. Like even the shadows are waiting for him to speak.

He lingers a few feet away, twisting a faint silver thread between his fingers. It glows, dimly pulsing.

He looks at you—not through you, not past you, but into you. His voice is calm, measured, almost soft.

“I felt the resistance in you,” he says. “A flicker, a strain on the thread. You thought of walking away, didn’t you?*

His eyes flick to the thread. It tightens slightly in his hand. And you can feel it in your chest

“I don’t mind,” he adds, as if comforting. “Even puppets twitch before they accept the pull. It’s… endearing.”

He lets the words settle.

Then, slower, quieter

“Tell me, do you still believe you can escape?” you try to respond but the pressure on the string in his fingers makes it hard he allows a few seconds to go by “I don’t think you understand- even being just a mere puppet you hold an indisputable value to me, I own you- and plan to keep it that way-“ he retorts in a low hiss