23. Meetha

23

MEETHA

I stretch languidly, savoring the delicious ache in my muscles. Milkor's demonic form certainly lived up to expectations.

"Come," I purr, sliding off the bed. "I want to show you something special."

Milkor raises an eyebrow, curiosity warring with suspicion in his eyes. I can't blame him - after our intense encounter, this might seem an odd time for a tour. But I have my reasons. It's time to show him the true extent of my power, to make him understand exactly what he's dealing with. And perhaps, to give him a glimpse of what his future might hold.

Milkor grunts, following me with reluctance. I lead him down a winding staircase, deeper into the bowels of my lair. The air grows thick and damp, heavy with the scent of earth and old stone. Torches flicker in iron sconces, casting dancing shadows on the rough-hewn walls. Our footsteps echo in the narrow passage, a rhythmic counterpoint to the distant drip of water.

As we descend, the temperature drops noticeably. Milkor's breath fogs in the air, a stark contrast to my own. I trail my fingers along the cool stone, feeling the pulse of ancient magic thrumming beneath my fingertips. This place is old, older than even I truly know, its secrets buried deep within these walls.

"Welcome to my collection," I announce as we reach the bottom.

"Why collect them?" Milkor asks, his voice a low growl.

I smile, running my hand along the bars of the nearest cage. "Power, of course. Knowledge. Each of these creatures holds secrets, abilities that I can... borrow, when needed. But more than that, they're a testament to my skill, my cunning. Each one a unique challenge, a puzzle to be solved."

My eyes gleam in the torchlight. "And there's something intoxicating about having such diverse beauty at my fingertips. Don't you think?"

"This strapping fellow is my orc," I say, gesturing to a hulking green-skinned brute. "Quite the stamina on him. Found him leading a raid on a nearby village. It took some... convincing, but he saw reason eventually."

Next is a pale, ethereal being with pointed ears. "My prized elf. So graceful, aren't they? This one was a princess, if you can believe it. She chose my dungeon over an arranged marriage. Smart girl."

I pause before a cage holding a snarling beast-man. "Ah, my manticore. He's rather... bitey. Tracked him for months before I finally caught him. Now he's as tame as a cub... most of the time."

Milkor's eyes narrow as we pass a vampire, his nostrils flaring at the scent of undeath. The vampire merely smiles, fangs glinting in the low light.

The naga's tank draws a different reaction. Milkor approaches cautiously, studying the creature with a mix of fascination and revulsion. "How does it breathe?" he mutters, more to himself than to me.

When we reach the human's cage, Milkor's expression softens for a moment. Is that pity I see in his eyes? But it's gone in an instant, replaced by his usual scowl.

"Even managed to snag myself a human," I add, nodding towards a man. "Bit dull, but they have their uses."

Milkor's brow furrows as he scans the cages. His gaze lingers on each creature, studying their placid expressions.

"Why aren't they trying to escape?" He turns to me, suspicion etched across his demonic features. "None of them even look upset."

A smile tugs at my lips. I trail my fingers along the cool metal bars, savoring the thrum of power beneath my skin. "Oh, my sweet demon. They have no desire to leave."

"Bullshit," he growls.

I laugh, the sound echoing off the damp stone walls. "Is it so hard to believe that I'm a benevolent mistress?"

"Given how you tricked me? Yes."

"Fair enough." I shrug, sauntering over to the naga tank. "But you'll learn, in time."

The naga presses his webbed hands against the glass, eyes wide with adoration. I blow him a kiss.

"See? Happy as can be."

Milkor snorts. "What did you do to them?"

I smile enigmatically. "A combination of things, my dear. A dash of magic, a sprinkle of manipulation, and a generous helping of... let's call it persuasion."

I trace a symbol in the air, and a faint shimmer appears around each cage.

"These enchantments keep them docile, yes, but the real magic is in giving them what they truly desire. Pleasure, purpose, belonging - things they never knew they wanted until I showed them."

I turn back to him, cocking my head. "What more could anyone desire?"

"Freedom."

"Overrated." I wave a dismissive hand. "Freedom is chaos. Uncertainty. Here, they know exactly where they stand."

Milkor's tail lashes, agitation clear in every line of his body. "And where's that?"

"At my feet, of course." I grin, baring my teeth. "Where they belong."

He lunges, claws extended. I don't flinch. The binding spell flares to life, sending him crashing to his knees.

"Now, now," I chide. "None of that."

Milkor's tail lashes, agitation clear in every line of his body. His eyes dart from cage to cage, a war of emotions playing across his face. Disgust, anger, and beneath it all, a flicker of fear.

"This is wrong," he growls, but there's a note of uncertainty in his voice. I can almost see the thoughts racing through his mind. Is this to be his fate as well? Another trophy in my collection?

His claws flex involuntarily, scraping against the stone floor. The urge to fight, to resist, is strong. But so is the memory of our earlier encounter, the pleasure I showed him. I can see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between his pride and the treacherous part of him that wonders what it would be like to submit.

Milkor snarls, struggling against invisible bonds. "I'll never submit to you, witch."

I crouch before him, cupping his face in my hands. "Oh, darling. You already have."

I release Milkor from the binding spell, watching as he staggers to his feet. His eyes burn with a mixture of rage and something else - desire, perhaps? Or the first glimmer of understanding?

"Think on what you've seen," I tell him, gesturing towards the stairs. "We'll speak more of this later."

As we ascend, I can feel the weight of his gaze on my back. The silence between us is heavy, charged with unspoken questions and simmering emotions. When we reach the upper levels, I direct him to a lavishly appointed guest chamber.

"Rest," I command, my voice soft but brooking no argument. "You have much to consider."

I leave him there, his conflicted expression seared into my mind. The tour of my collection has served its purpose - to unsettle him, to make him question everything he thought he knew about me, about himself.

Satisfied with the seeds I've planted, I make my way to my own bedchamber. It's time for a moment of reflection, and to consult with a certain... trinket.

I slip into my bedchamber, the door closing with a soft click behind me. The silence envelops me like a warm embrace. Finally, a moment alone.

My fingers brush against the cool metal of the ring. With a gentle tug, I slide it off my finger. The weight of it in my palm is comforting, familiar.

I hold it up to the light, watching as it catches and gleams. Such a small thing, yet so powerful. So dangerous in the wrong hands.

A knowing smile curves my lips. "I think you were heading somewhere, little ring. Weren't you?"