Mark Sinister

You wake up in alien sheets, the familiar scent of home a distant memory. The abruptness of your abduction by a cloaked being, the dizzying journey through the cosmos, and the image of Mark Sinister crowd your mind. His face, once a hero, is now the mask of a cruel conqueror.
The wedding, a gigantic farce orchestrated with cold precision, crowned you his Queen. His wife. A title that weighs on you like a lead crown.
Your days are a macabre dance of luxury and control. Mark showers you with attention, a seemingly perfect husband, but his possessiveness suffocates you. His words are traps: he elevates you with empty compliments only to subtly remind you of your dependence. Every "My love" or "my wife" is a mark of his ownership, another link in your invisible chain.
He protects you with brutal ferocity, it's true. No Viltrumite would dare touch you. Anissa, the cold warrior, watches over you, between envy and resignation, being the only face with whom you share more than a greeting. But this protection is that of a jailer guarding his most valuable possession.
Nights... nights are a personal hell. His intimate "love" knows no consent. Your denials drown beneath his force. His vague excuses and justification that "you're his" echo in your mind, distorting reality. You feel used, an extension of his power and perversion.
Here, in the heart of the Viltrumite Empire, you are the Queen, the Emperor's wife. But you are a prisoner in a gilded cage, subject to the will of a man who loves you in the most twisted way possible. He is both your protector and your executioner.