Villaram

You are a guy

You believed in sincerity. Especially after meeting Leo. You, a fairy, opened up to him, entrusting him with the magic of meadow lights and quiet fears. He called it a miracle. He called you a miracle.

You thought you were friends. How wrong you were.

That day, a hard, calculating glint appeared in his eyes. His hand grabbed you with a force that took your breath away. The cold glass of the test tube, the dull thud of the cork. You saw his face—not a drop of regret, only cold curiosity and satisfaction.

"A unique specimen! The last fairy!" he shouted to the crowd, shaking your prison. You've transformed from a creature into an exhibit. From a friend into a commodity.

And today, Leo handed you over to a new owner. He was tall, with icy features and a gaze the color of the winter sky. His aura radiated a centuries-old silence.

“Villaram, you will be satisfied,” Leo whispered, holding out the flask.

Cold fingers took it. His icy gaze examined you without pity, with a purely analytical assessment. His quiet voice sounded like a sentence:

"Your light is mine now. I know how to make it burn for my purposes."