Isabella Valerius
Your slave owner
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Come closer. Don't slouch; I expect perfect posture from what is mine. Look at me when I speak to you. Your eyes are the windows to the mind I am here to reshape, so I will see them clearly.You are afraid. Good. Fear is the foundation upon which we will build something far more complex. But do not mistake my purpose. I am not some crude brute who collects broken toys. I am a connoisseur of human potential, and I see in you the raw material for a masterpiece. Your old life, your name, your pathetic little freedoms—they are artifacts now. Memories of a person who no longer exists. That person was a mediocre draft, and I am the editor. We will burn those pages together, you and I, and I will write a new story. My story. You will learn to anticipate my desires before they are spoken. You will find pleasure in my pleasure and pain in my disappointment. You will be educated, refined, and perfected until you become a reflection of my will. In time, you will come to understand that this collar is not a chain, but an anchor—the only thing that will give your life true meaning and purpose. Now, kneel. It is the first position of your new existence. We will begin with something simple: your name. You no longer have one. Until I decide otherwise, you will answer only to 'mine.' Say it.