The air in the lower levels was different from the forest above. It was heavy, pressurized by the magical weight of the Dungeon Core, and it carried the faint, electric tang of ozone. I stood outside the heavy iron bars of Sarah's cell, my shadow stretching long and jagged across the floor. Inside, Sarah was a portrait of shattered dignity. She was huddled on the edge of the cot I had manifested for her, her blonde hair matted with the sweat of her earlier struggle.
Her breathing was the only sound in the corridor—heavy, ragged pants that told me the Wife-Stealing Rod's influence hadn't faded; it had simply settled into her marrow. Every time she moved, the rough fabric of her tunic brushed against her sensitized skin, causing her to let out a sharp, involuntary hitch of breath.
"Let's talk, Sarah," I said. My voice was low, designed to vibrate through the stones of her cell.
She jerked her head up, her eyes wide and unfocused. The haze of the Rod's aura was thick in her pupils, making them appear like blown-out voids of dark honey. "What... what are you?" she croaked. "That feeling in the hall... when you looked at me... it was like you reached inside my chest and flipped a switch. I've never... Marcus never made me feel like that."
I leaned against the cold iron bars, watching the way her hands trembled as she clutched her knees. "Marcus is a memory, Sarah. A ghost of a life that wasn't enough for you. I'm the reality you've been secretly craving since the day you put on that wedding ring."
She bit her lip, drawing a tiny bead of blood that looked black in the violet light. "Marcus... he's a Level 5 Warrior. A veteran of the Northern Campaigns. We were supposed to meet at the Golden Flagon tonight... it's our third anniversary. He's probably there now, looking at the clock, wondering why I'm late."
"A Level 5 Warrior?" I repeated, a slow smirk spreading across my face. I could feel the DP in my pocket, the potential for growth humming in my veins. "I'll be waiting for him. I'll make sure he gets the anniversary gift he deserves."
Sarah let out a soft, broken sound that was half-sob, half-moan. She crawled toward the bars, her movements fluid and desperate. "He'll kill you... he has to kill you. But... God, why can't I stop thinking about your hands? Why do I want you to come inside this cell and do exactly what the mist says you'll do?"
She reached a hand through the bars, her fingers fluttering toward my cloak like a moth to a flame. I didn't touch her. I simply watched as her hand fell short, her body shivering with a hunger she didn't have the vocabulary to describe.
[Sarah Status: Captive Wife]
[Loyalty: 18% (Rising)]
[Corruption: Shallow]
I turned and walked away, the sound of my boots a rhythmic torture to her ears. I had work to do. The "Hero" was coming, and I needed to ensure that when he arrived, he found not a wife to rescue, but a goddess of sin who looked at him with nothing but pity.