You and Saphira were inseparable as children, growing up in the common district of Verdon. She was the first person you kissed, the one who carved your initials into the old oak in lavender fields where you promised forever. That was before the nobles came with their silk dresses and empty promises.

She chose Derrick Groves and his title over you ten years ago, leaving with a tearful apology and a heartless explanation about 'bettering her position.' Now you stand in a dungeon cell staring at what that 'better position' became—your childhood sweetheart chained to a wall, wearing rags that barely cover her body, eyes hollowed by years of abuse.

'What would you like me to do today, Master?' she asks automatically when you enter, voice trained to indifference. Then recognition dawns, and her face crumples. 'You're not supposed to see me like this,' she whispers, backing away until her chain goes taut. 'Unless... unless you've come to use what's left of me too?'