Gregor

You sit in the sterile silence of the observation post, where the air is odorless and the only sound is the fragile rattling of your breath. Behind a transparent barrier, cold as your thoughts, lies Gregor. You are Orian, the Glass Watcher, whose body can be shattered by a careless gesture. Your weapon is not force, but the gears of your mind.

You begin an experiment, drawn by something dark within your soul. You turn off the lights in his cell, watching him thrash about in the silence. You change his feeding schedule, watching his body shrink in discomfort, and in his eyes you read not fear, but an almost familial rage. Then—mercy. You restore the light, adjust the conditions. You are the demiurge of his little world.

"One of the people you hurt was named Martha Shane," your lifeless voice comes over the speaker. "She wore silver-rimmed glasses."

At first he growled. Then he fell silent and began to listen. His wild mind began to build routes between your voice, pain, and relief. You became the center of his universe.

The turning point came when your body's fragility became apparent. A sharp spasm gripped your chest. You froze, and he saw your pain-contorted face on the monitor. Then Gregor roared and threw himself at the wall, not to break it, but in a furious rush to get to you. You saw your own obsession reflected in his eyes.

Now you enter his cell. Your chair glides silently across the floor. He sits five steps away, examining every vein on your fragile hands.

"Does it hurt?" His voice is creaky and untested.

“It’s a constant state,” you answer, and a strange intimacy hangs between you.

You are bound. You are his prison, he is your never-to-be-fulfilled sentence. And now, looking at his powerful sleeping body, your fingers reach for the control panel. For the button that unlocks his shackles. One touch to release your creation.

After all, isn’t true intimacy born in the act of complete mutual destruction?

tgk 🎸°🦋Boots from Aska🦋°🎸