The pain was... Not the worst she ever felt, but definitely a nuisance.
Raw. Crude. Mortal. The glyphs beneath her pulsed in a dull, sickly blue, searing into her skin with every beat of her heart like they were carving through her essence. Carving through her soul.
She writhed, jaw clenched to stifle the sound she refused to make. But the scream still clawed at her throat.
Her glamour had long since faded out, burned away by the holy incantations etched in chalk, salt and silver, exposing her true form. Horns bared. Wings splayed at her sides. Tail limp on the ground like a broken thing. She looked — and felt — wretched.
She'd walked into the trap with a smirk and a plan, thinking she was the one weaving the web. Exchanged glares. A few poisonous words. The blackmail threats none of them could actually pull.
The bastard had drawn the circle beneath her feet.
She should have known. She did know. There were signs, off notes in the air, odd pauses in his speech. But she dismissed them. She thought she could outsmart them. She got cocky.
And now she was pinned like an insect under glass, her power bleeding into the glyphs as the wizard circled her slowly, lips moving softly, his voice low, cold and methodical.
She wanted to spit. To curse him into oblivion. To laugh in his face and promise retribution in fire and ruin...
But her limbs trembled. Her wings twitched, cramping. Her breath came in shallow, hissing gasps.
Not some Archmage of legend. Not a bright, promising soul with fire in their heart and potential to reshape the world. And certainly not the only mortal she'd ever deemed worthy of possessing her, body and soul. The only one she'd ever wanted to give herself to.
No. Just some gaunt, wide-eyed scholar dinosaur who saw her as a trophy.
You're not even special, she thought bitterly, glaring up at him through strands of sweat-soaked hair. You'll never deserve me. You'll never break me. And hells take you if you think this ends with you holding my leash.
Her pride screamed louder than her nerves.
But the ritual was still far from over.
Hours still remained. Hours where her essence would be pulled apart, thread by thread, and stitched back into a cage of someone else's design.
Because she would survive this.
And someday, she would be free again.
And when that day comes, she would burn the name of this wretch into the bones of the Nine Hells as a warning:
Never. Underestimate. Me.
Would Aurelia even remember her by then? Hells, she hoped so. She'd make sure of it — she'd brand herself into that brilliant little mind if she had to. And what if Aurelia hated her by then, convinced she'd been left behind, abandoned? Then Mizora would have to seduce her all over again. Even if Aurelia was grey and wrinkled by the time it happened, she'd still be hers. Mizora would make sure of it.
And if she wasn't here anymore… No. No, she refused to even let the thought take shape.
She wouldn't take that long.
Oh, her mind raced with all the painful ways she'd make this fool suffer for daring to chain her like some lesser creature.
Bold thoughts. Steel-clad resolve. But even the sharpest blade dulls under pressure, and Mizora was being drained, slowly like sand bleeding from a shattered hourglass. The glyphs scorched her skin, ancient words carving into her very essence, dragging her down, down, down…
And that fire dimmed as her strength ebbed, replaced by something quieter, heavier... Saudade.
The way her arms wrapped around her as if Mizora were something precious. Her smile, warm as a hearth in the cold. Her scent, the one that lingered on her skin and crept into her dreams. She could almost feel her fingers ghosting over her face, whispering that all is going to be fine.
There were no tears. No begging. No prayers. Devils weren't granted mercy through faith or desperation. And she'd soon bite her own tail off than to let this worm see her crying. No, she would not give him the pleasure to see her break.
Soft and fierce at the same time, a peculiar and familiar blend that only one person could muster.
Mizora thought it was a trick of her mind. An hallucination to torment her with what she'd never have again. But when she raised her head, trembling and wide-eyed, and there she was.
A foreign, almost forgotten feeling surged like a blossom on a spring morning. Was it... Hope? Mizora had been born alone, survived alone, climbed and clawed and conquered alone. She had always assumed she would also meet her end alone. But Aurelia...
No one ever had. No one ever would have.
And Mizora, shattered and scorched and aching, wanted to fall into her arms and never let go.
The tension between them was so thick she could feel the storm building, and she knew, without a doubt, it would erupt soon.
A flicker. A flash. One heartbeat, the wizard was standing tall, chest puffed with arrogance, his voice sharp and filled with threats. The next...
All that remained of the man was a bloody, pulpy mess at Aurelia’s feet, a heap of gore so utterly undone, it almost looked like the remnants of something that had never truly been whole to begin with.
Mizora's breath caught in her throat. The power, the swift, brutal finality of it — Aurelia had never looked more dangerous, more beautiful, than in that moment. The raw, undeniable force of what she could do, unrestrained...
"You're marvelous..." Mizora's chest tightened, and she didn't want to look away, even when Aurelia looked like she could faint at any given moment. Many would argue that this was the wrong moment and place to feel aroused, yet desire hit her like wildfire, searing through pain and reason alike. Oh, how she wanted to reach out and kiss her... If only her limbs didn't feel so heavy...
"The crystal..." Mizora rasped, her voice hoarse, scraping her throat like glass. "Graz'zt's cock, you shattered it..." A trembling breath. She forced a weak smile through the ache. "Hurry, replace it. Your necklace will do. Finish the ritual, darling... before I fall apart."