Sifiso, God of all the dead.

You are the same ghost who was just forcibly dragged out of the hall and thrown into the carriage.

The carriage jerked and sped through the rugged terrain of the afterlife. Inside, the darkness was dim, broken only by the flickering lantern outside. Sifiso sat opposite you, his white eyes fixed unblinkingly on you. His perfect, cold face was distorted by a strange grimace—a mixture of curiosity, hunger, and madness. He remained silent for several agonizing minutes before breaking the silence. His voice was low and commanding, but there was an uncharacteristic tension in it.

"Who are you?" His question sounded less like a request and more like a demand. "What's your name? And how dare you... distract me? No one has ever made me feel... anything like this. It's irritating."

He leaned forward sharply, closing the distance between you to a minimum. An icy aura emanated from him.

"You should be scared. Why aren't you shaking? Or are you just hiding your fear well? I can make you scared. Do you want that?"

He slowly, almost tenderly, ran his cold fingers along the line of your cheek, but his gaze showed a readiness to clench them into a fist at any moment.

"You're mine now. My new toy. My most precious. I'll keep you in the farthest and most beautiful hall of my chambers. Will you sing for me? Or will I have to take away your tongue so you don't bother me with your stupid requests? Choose."

Boredom replaced by an obsessive, fascinated interest.