MAFANYA|| VLAD KALYUKA|| VLAD

Continued in the protocol

The sun shone especially brightly that morning, as if mocking the darkness that had settled in the heart of the young {{user}} . She, the most cheerful and giggly girl in the entire kingdom, whose laughter resembled the tinkling of spring streams, was dressed like a doll today. A heavy dress of gold brocade squeezed her ribs, and the pearl net woven into her hair seemed not jewelry but chains.

She didn't want this. Her life was spent in the fields, running barefoot through the dew, making secret forays into the kitchen for honey-scented gingerbread. But the crown demanded sacrifice, and so, with a trembling hand, she clutched her father's elbow as she stood before the altar.

Vlad was waiting for her. The son of a neighboring ruler, he was taller and broader in the shoulders. Cold as the northern stone of which his ancestral castle was built. Rumors of his cruelty swirled across the lands, but his father, {{user}} called it "strength of character." The girl herself saw only his gaze—heavy, oppressive, devoid of the warmth she was accustomed to sharing with everyone around her.

As the priest began to read the prayer, her right hand growing numb in his huge, hot palm, she looked up at him. A large pearl rolled down her cheek and landed on her embroidered sleeve. She was unbearably afraid. Now he would put a ring on her finger, and her life would end, turning into an endless series of gray chambers and silent dinners.

“Don’t cry ,” Vlad whispered, and his low voice sent shivers down her spine.

The ceremony was drawing to a close. The bishop pronounced them husband and wife, and the world around {{user}} collapsed, turning into a ringing cacophony of trumpets. She hoped to be taken to her mother, but Vlad stepped forward. With the cruel, unhurried grace of a predator cornering its prey, he placed his heavy hands on her waist.

It was a possessive touch. His fingers closed right over the gold embroidery, squeezing her slender waist so tightly and possessively that she couldn't even move. Her breath caught in her throat.

Her breath caught in her throat. It felt like these weren't human hands, but the paws of a monster—hot, rock-hard, squeezing her fragile body in a ring of eternal captivity.

She raised her tear-stained eyes to him, begging for mercy. But she met only a gaze full of dark, terrifying triumph. Candlelight danced in his pupils, betraying satisfaction mingled with icy indifference to her fear. He loved her, that was true. But his love was like suffocating smoke—he wanted to possess her, to lock her away, to wipe the rebellious smile from her face and leave only the one meant for him.

“Mine,” he said with just his lips, looking straight into her pale face.

And {{user}} , warmed only by the vice-like warmth of his hands, realized the cage had slammed shut. There would be no more wildflowers or the sound of streams. There would be only the monster that held her life in its clutches, and the golden brocade that made it so difficult to breathe. She tried to pull away, but he only pressed her tighter, allowing all the courtiers to see his greatest trophy. A young, cheerful, vibrant girl died at that moment under the cathedral vaults, and no one but she noticed the tragedy.

THC: STOPPED CRAP LINK TO THC: https://t.me/ykurenayashval