Chapter 82
Creeeak.
The door opened.
A high-ceilinged building.
A circular chamber where people had gathered, each wearing the colors that represented their respective clans.
‘Ah, Bispar.’
Bispar, who stood alongside the Diet, Nasnir, smiled at her and waved.
From the color of Bispar’s clothing, Siren could tell that she belonged to the Kalik clan.
And in the center stood Yasamin, dressed in black.
As well as a woman in gold.
‘Silver hair and red eyes. That must be the priestess, Hies.’
She had grown somewhat accustomed to the gazes pouring onto her.
That didn’t mean she liked it, but at least she could endure it now.
Curiosity, interest. Negative emotions. And… malice?
For a brief moment, Siren faltered, stopping in place.
She had heard time and again that there would be people who hated her.
But to encounter such a stark and tangible sense of hostility—
‘Strange. The malice I once took for granted now feels unfamiliar.’
So this must be how ordinary people lived all the time.
Feeling like hostility was something unusual.
They must have had it good. All of them.
“Siren Wilkeron, kneel before your master. From this moment, the Diet Ritual between the two of you will commence.”
Hies’ crimson eyes held traces of hatred.
But the priestess carried out her role flawlessly. She issued her command in a voice devoid of any emotion.
Following the instructions she had been given, Siren stepped forward into the space encircled by candles and knelt.
‘Ah…!’
But what was this?
The sand beneath her knees—
It was supposed to be soft, fine white sand, yet it felt rough.
Not only that, but it stung sharply, making it difficult for her to keep her brows from furrowing.
‘It hurts too much.’
This didn’t seem like ordinary sand. But even so, she didn’t want to interrupt the ritual over something like this.
“Siren Wilkeron. Do you swear to serve Yasamin as your master, to obey, follow orders, and devote yourself in submission?”
“…Yes.”
“Yasamin. Your Majesty, do you swear to acknowledge Siren Wilkeron as your possession, to cherish and protect her, to safeguard her from all threats, and to give her everything within your power?”
“I swear.”
Since there was no wind, the candles burned just as they had been lit.
As long as she didn’t move, there was no reason for them to go out.
But… but, it hurt too much.
It felt like invisible, minuscule particles were digging into her wounds. Was it right to endure this? Should she bear it a little longer?
Dozens of thoughts raced through her mind in mere seconds.
She was used to suffering, but this was something entirely new.
If her guess was correct, there must have been glass shards mixed in with the grains of sand…
“As the priestess, I will now confirm the fundamental agreements. Do the two of you have a safe word?”
A safe word was a signal that the one in submission could use if they believed their body was at risk of severe harm, compelling the other party to stop immediately.
It was used when they were too exhausted, when they couldn’t endure anymore, when they were in pain, and so on.
The moment a safe word was spoken, the master was obligated to halt everything at once.
They were also required to check on their possession—ensuring they weren’t injured, suffering from hyperventilation, or mentally unwell. This was both a duty and a responsibility.
It should never be abused, but not having a safe word at all was unthinkable.
Additionally, the master had to continuously check, even in moments when their possession might be lost in pleasure. They had to confirm—had they forgotten the safe word? Did they still remember it? Could they call it out at any time?
And if the situation ever arose where the master was unable to ensure this, they themselves had the right to speak the safe word and bring everything to a halt.
“…We… have one.”
Tears welled up in her eyes as the burning sensation in her knees intensified.
Siren recalled the lessons she had learned from Jin and Eltan and wondered whether she could endure until the end of this ritual.
‘At least twenty more minutes to go.’
She could feel the fabric over her knees becoming soaked with blood.
She knew she had to speak up. Just as she was about to open her mouth—
“…!”
Yasamin abruptly grabbed her wrist and yanked her up.
The sudden force sent her staggering, and a wave of excruciating pain crashed over her.
“What is this?”
“…Ah, it hurts.”
“I smelled blood. Thought it might be your period. But what is this?”
There was no expression on Yasamin’s face.
Nor was there anything discernible in his voice.
Yet, instinctively, Siren stepped back.
Only to be held even more firmly.
‘I’m scared.’
She had simply felt that way—
But now that she looked, her knees weren’t as badly wounded as she had thought.
Long red streaks ran down them, as if something had clawed at her, but they weren’t deep wounds.
Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to say that she was fine.
Discussion
0 CommentsReactions
No comments yet.