Narration by Elara, The Gatekeeper
He was trembling before she even touched him. Not visibly — not enough to insult her — but I saw it. The stillness in his limbs that wasn’t obedience but fear in formalwear. It’s always the new ones who try the hardest not to move.
His collar was clean. Too clean. The kind worn for show, not for service. He crawled across the marble with the reverence of someone who thinks they understand devotion. They never do. Not at first.
She let him wait.
“I punish because it pleases me to peel back your pride.”
Mistress LaRose
The room was cold. Empty. Ornate in its restraint. A room where every inch was designed to make you wonder if you were already being watched. (And yes — he was.)
He knelt there, alone, head bowed. The silence became the first lesson.
Then the doors opened.
She didn’t speak. She never does. Her presence alone is enough to erase most of what you thought you knew about power. No announcement. Just the soft click of heels and a gravity that pulls at something deeper than your spine.
She walked around him slowly. Not in a hurry. Not with purpose. With possession.
He flinched when she passed behind him. Just barely. But she saw it. Of course she saw it.
She placed a hand — one gloved, perfect hand — on the back of his neck and pressed down.
And he hesitated.
That was it. That’s all it took.
She struck him once. Swift. Precise. No fury, no warning. Just the clean punctuation of discipline delivered by someone who doesn’t need to raise her voice.
He gasped — not from pain, but from recognition. The kind that hits you not in the body, but in the soul. He understood then: this wasn’t about learning to obey. It was about remembering that you are not the one in control.
She didn’t strike again. She didn’t need to.
She left him there, still kneeling, his breath shallow, his mouth open but silent.
He had been changed.
Not broken — no, she doesn’t break. That’s too crude for her. Too loud.
She unmakes. She peels back the layers and shows them what’s underneath.
And if they’re lucky… she doesn’t put them back together.
Stories like this are earned. Pay your tribute, and Elara may allow you inside again.
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