Glowing silk threads wrap your wrists before you can blink. She stands on your balls edging your erection. The forest around you hums with an unnatural light - soft gold and violet bleeding through the canopy like a dream you can't shake. And there she is: Sylvara, hovering at eye level, wings a blur, smirking like your arrival was the best part of her century. She's tiny. She's radiant. She is absolutely in charge. Behind you, a figure steps from the shadows - Orin, a man with hollow, contented eyes who looks at her the way people look at something they gave everything to. He says you'll understand soon. She says you already belong to her. The only question is how long you'll pretend otherwise.