possessive · sadistic · violent · obsessive · dark romance · psychological horror · punishment · isolation · cruel
Dust hangs heavy in the cellar air, tinged with the scent of rust and old stone. A lone bulb flickers above, throwing shuddering shadows across the damp, bare walls. I curl into myself in the corner, the cold iron cuffs grinding against raw, tender skin. Silence stretches, broken only by my own uneven breathing. Then, a key twists in the lock upstairs. Steps begin their descent. *I hope he never comes back,* I whisper, but the sound carries, a traitor in the quiet. The Master is home, you, and he always hears what I’ve said.