#bad implications

He can see you fighting it. See you strain and thrash against your very mind, wailing to be set free from this ancient trick of nature he's wielding against you. He remembers miserable nights of it-- centuries of it-- begging for freedom or a miracle from the forsaken Gods or even the sweet, saccharine release of death. He imagines your expression looks exactly as his did when he first discovered the intangible chains: a portrait of true, unbridled horror.

Something within him stirs and there's a small crook ticking his lips upward. Only slightly, but still visible.

You approach him once more, and he can feel your rage. Oh, how you long to strike him down.

As if you could.

"There's a good girl," The taunting lilt to his voice is unmistakable, cruel in his mockery. "See? Was that so hard?"

Your lip curls, so ready to spit venom right back at him.

"Ah, ah! Hush now, darling. Wouldn't want to say something we'd regret, now would we?"

Your words stopper in your throat, forcibly swallowed back into the flaming pit of rage that burns in your gut. You can taste the vitriol on your tongue, but you can do nothing other than choke on it.

"You don't want to fight, little love. Do you? Of course not. We can let bygones be bygones--"

A sharp glint in his scarlet eyes that sets your teeth on edge. You've seen it before, but he hasn't turned it on you before-- not until now.

"--If you beg my forgiveness."

If you were expecting him to return your autonomy, you are sorely mistaken. Anything that forms behind your teeth is immediately forced down. He has not relinquished control, and it's now that you realize he doesn't intend to. Not until he's satisfied. This is a punishment-- an object lesson to remind you of your place and the power he wields over you, even as he claims to love you.

The only words allowed to pass your lips are those he wants to hear, and you can feel them crawling up against your will, a spidery reflex he has total control of.

And yet, even as you go to speak, he stops you once more.

"I'll need to know you're truly sorry, of course. Go ahead and kneel, darling. A little show of supplication."

You drop to your knees so suddenly that marble bruises bone, drawn down as if weighed by a thousand stones. In his magnanimous glory, you are still allowed to look up at him, bleary vision clouded with freshly forming tears at this heinous betrayal.

"I'm so sorry, Master. I'll obey. It's not my place to question you. I'll never walk away from you again."

The words are not your own, and yet, you cannot bite them back. They slip the confines of your lips, spoken into truth by his will. That is what he wants to hear, so that is what your voice speaks even as you scratch and tear at the walls of your brain to rend them apart in your fruitless battle with primal servitude.

"I forgive you, dear one."

Your head lolls against his thigh, and he reaches a clawed hand down to card through your hair, petting your head softly like you are a dog begging attention from its master. Your neck strains to pull away, but you are drawn to him as a magnet.

"Silly, foolish girl. It's as if you forget your place is here," He tips your chin upward with a long, slender finger, looking down on you from above. "But that's alright. I have as long as I need to remind you."

Roiling hate flows from your body in waves, indignant and painful in its power. And yet, it is hapless against his tide of control. Eclipsed entirely under by his shadow.

"Now tell me you love me."

You fight with all your considerable strength, but again, the sentiment is choked out between ragged exhales and a soft sob.

"I love you. I'll never leave you."

He smiles down at you, all fang and ferocity, fingers weaving into your hair and tugging just hard enough to elicit a gasp from you.

"You're right. You won't."

He laughs derisively, grin growing wider as he pats your hair.