21. Meetha

21

MEETHA

I push Milkor through the shimmering portal, back to my sanctuary. The familiar scent of incense and magic envelops us as we materialize in the heart of my domain.

My sanctuary is a testament to both power and comfort, carved into the living rock of a hidden mountain. The main chamber is a vast, circular room with a high, domed ceiling. Intricate runes and sigils are etched into every surface, glowing faintly with barely contained magical energy.

Plush rugs in deep, rich colors cover the polished stone floor, muffling our footsteps. Ornate tapestries depicting scenes of magic and conquest adorn the walls, interspersed with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with ancient tomes and magical artifacts.

A large fireplace dominates one wall, its flames dancing merrily, casting flickering shadows across the room. The mantle above it is adorned with crystals and small statues, each humming with its own magical frequency.

Scattered throughout the room are various pieces of furniture - the velvet chaise I favor, overstuffed armchairs, and low tables perfect for studying grimoires or mixing potions. Each piece is a work of art, crafted from the finest materials and imbued with protective enchantments.

In one corner, a spiral staircase of polished obsidian leads up to my private chambers and down to my workrooms and dungeons. The air thrums with the steady pulse of wards and protective spells, a constant reminder of the power that permeates every inch of this place.

This sanctuary is more than just a hideaway - it's an extension of myself, a physical manifestation of my power and desires. Every object, every spell, every inch of this place has been carefully curated and created by me. It's my refuge, my fortress, and my playground all in one.

I breathe in deeply, savoring the familiar scents and sensations. This is home - the only place where I can truly be myself, where I am in complete control.

"Welcome home, demon," I purr, trailing my fingers along Milkor's muscular arm. "Time for some truth."

Milkor's eyes narrow. "More revelations? Haven't you toyed with me enough?"

I laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Oh, darling. I'm just getting started."

I saunter to a plush velvet chaise and sprawl across it. With a flick of my wrist, I conjure two goblets of blood-red wine.

I swirl the wine in my goblet, watching it cling to the sides like memories that refuse to fade. "This wine, Milkor, is like my past - bitter, intoxicating, and impossible to forget. Each sip is a reminder of where I came from, of the pain that forged me."

I take a long drink, savoring the complex flavors. "But like this wine, I've aged. Grown stronger, more potent. What was once raw and harsh has become something to be savored, to be feared."

"Drink," I command. "And listen."

Milkor hesitates, then takes a long swallow. Good boy.

"I wasn't always this powerful, you know," I begin, twirling a lock of hair around my finger. "Once, I was weak. Helpless. A mere mortal at the mercy of men's desires."

His brow furrows. "You? Helpless?"

"Hard to imagine, isn't it?" I smirk. "But it's true. I was born a helpless human, in a world where women were seen as little more than flesh to be used and discarded." I take a sip of wine, savoring the bitter taste. "My body was not my own. It belonged to any man with coin to spare."

Milkor's jaw clenches as I recount my past, his silver eyes flickering with a mix of emotions - shock, anger, and something that might be empathy. His muscles tense under my touch, and I can see the slight tremor in his hands as he grips the goblet tighter.

"And how did you become... this?"

I lean back, memories flooding through me. The taste of wine turns acrid on my tongue.

"I was barely more than a child when they took me. Snatched from the streets, bundled into a carriage reeking of sweat and fear."

Milkor's eyes darken. Good. Let him feel a fraction of the rage I've carried.

"They sold me to the highest bidder. A fat merchant with wandering hands and foul breath. He was the first, but far from the last."

I drain my goblet, willing the alcohol to dull the echoes of pain.

"I became a plaything, passed from one cruel master to another. They used me, hurt me, treated me like less than nothing." My fingers clench around the empty cup. "Every night, I prayed for death. Or vengeance. Whichever came first."

Milkor shifts uncomfortably. "How did you survive?"

A bitter laugh escapes me. "I didn't have a choice. They made sure of that. But in the darkest moments, something inside me... changed."

I meet his gaze, letting him see the inferno that still burns within me.

"One night, after a particularly brutal session, something inside me... snapped. The pain, the rage, the despair—it all coalesced into a burning knot in my chest. And then, suddenly, it exploded outward."

I lean forward, my eyes blazing with the memory. "It was like a dam breaking. Power surged through me, magic that had always been there, dormant, waiting. My hands glowed with an eerie light, and I felt invincible."

As I describe discovering my powers, Milkor leans forward, his breath quickening. A bead of sweat forms on his brow, and I watch as he unconsciously licks his lips, captivated by my tale.

"What did you do?"

A savage smile curves my lips. "I slaughtered them all, Milkor. Every last one of those bastards who thought they owned me. My newfound magic tore through their flesh like it was paper."

"The magic courses through me like liquid fire," I explain, holding out my hand. A shimmering orb of energy forms above my palm, pulsing with barely contained power. "It's raw, primal energy that responds to my will. I can shape it, mold it, use it to destroy or create."

I clench my fist, and the orb dissipates in a shower of sparks. "It's intoxicating, Milkor. The rush of power, the knowledge that I can bend reality to my whim. But it's also dangerous. The magic feeds on emotion, on desire. The stronger the feeling, the more potent the spell."

I pause, relishing the memory. "I didn't know what I was doing, only that I finally had the means to fight back. With each death, I felt my power growing, feeding on their fear and pain."

"And after?" Milkor asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

"After, I stood amid the carnage, covered in blood, and I knew. I knew I would never be helpless again. That night, I wasn't just discovering magic—I was discovering myself."

Milkor watches me, his expression a mix of awe and wariness. Good. He should be afraid.

"Did it fix everything?" he asks quietly.

I laugh, the sound harsh and bitter. "Of course not. Nothing could erase what they did to me. But it was a start."

I rise, pacing the room restlessly. "Now, I find others like them. Men and women who prey on the weak, who think they can use and discard people without consequence."

My lips curl into a predatory smile. "I make them regret ever being born. You see, my beautiful demon, naughty boys and girls need to be punished."

Milkor's eyes lock onto mine, a mix of fear and intrigue dancing in their depths. "And how do you plan on punishing me?"

A thrill runs through me at his question. Oh, the possibilities. I saunter towards him, trailing my fingers along his chest.

"Punishment comes in many forms. As for your punishment, my beautiful demon," I purr, tracing a finger down his chest, "I have so many delicious ideas. Perhaps I'll bind your powers, make you experience what it's like to be truly helpless. Or maybe I'll tease you to the brink of ecstasy, again and again, until you're begging for release."

I lean in close, my lips brushing his ear. "Or maybe, just maybe, I'll make you fall in love with me. Wouldn't that be the sweetest torture of all for a demon like you?"

Milkor's breath catches, his body tensing at my words. His nostrils flare, but I can see the flicker of arousal in his eyes. "You think you can break me?"

"Break you?" I laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "No, my dear. I'm going to remake you." I press my body against his, reveling in the heat radiating from his skin. "I'm going to strip away every last shred of your demonic pride. Make you beg for my touch, my approval."

Milkor's breath hitches. "And then what?"

"Then?" I trace my fingers along his jaw. "Then I'll build you back up. Mold you into something... better. My perfect little pet demon."

His eyes darken with a mix of desire and defiance. "You're playing a dangerous game, purna."

"Oh, I know," I whisper against his lips. "But that's half the fun, isn't it?"