Page 47 of A Kiss of Deception

"These enchantments keep them docile, yes, but the real magic is in giving them what they truly desire. Pleasure, purpose, belonging - things they never knew they wanted until I showed them."

I turn back to him, cocking my head. "What more could anyone desire?"

"Freedom."

"Overrated." I wave a dismissive hand. "Freedom is chaos. Uncertainty. Here, they know exactly where they stand."

Milkor's tail lashes, agitation clear in every line of his body. "And where's that?"

"At my feet, of course." I grin, baring my teeth. "Where they belong."

He lunges, claws extended. I don't flinch. The binding spell flares to life, sending him crashing to his knees.

"Now, now," I chide. "None of that."

Milkor's tail lashes, agitation clear in every line of his body. His eyes dart from cage to cage, a war of emotions playing across his face. Disgust, anger, and beneath it all, a flicker of fear.

"This is wrong," he growls, but there's a note of uncertainty in his voice. I can almost see the thoughts racing through his mind. Is this to be his fate as well? Another trophy in my collection?

His claws flex involuntarily, scraping against the stone floor. The urge to fight, to resist, is strong. But so is the memory of our earlier encounter, the pleasure I showed him. I can see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between his pride and the treacherous part of him that wonders what it would be like to submit.

Milkor snarls, struggling against invisible bonds. "I'll never submit to you, witch."

I crouch before him, cupping his face in my hands. "Oh, darling. You already have."

I release Milkor from the binding spell, watching as he staggers to his feet. His eyes burn with a mixture of rage and something else - desire, perhaps? Or the first glimmer of understanding?

"Think on what you've seen," I tell him, gesturing towards the stairs. "We'll speak more of this later."

As we ascend, I can feel the weight of his gaze on my back. The silence between us is heavy, charged with unspoken questions and simmering emotions. When we reach the upper levels, I direct him to a lavishly appointed guest chamber.

"Rest," I command, my voice soft but brooking no argument. "You have much to consider."

I leave him there, his conflicted expression seared into my mind. The tour of my collection has served its purpose - to unsettle him, to make him question everything he thought he knew about me, about himself.

Satisfied with the seeds I've planted, I make my way to my own bedchamber. It's time for a moment of reflection, and to consult with a certain... trinket.

I slip into my bedchamber, the door closing with a soft click behind me. The silence envelops me like a warm embrace. Finally, a moment alone.

My fingers brush against the cool metal of the ring. With a gentle tug, I slide it off my finger. The weight of it in my palm is comforting, familiar.

I hold it up to the light, watching as it catches and gleams. Such a small thing, yet so powerful. So dangerous in the wrong hands.

A knowing smile curves my lips. "I think you were heading somewhere, little ring. Weren't you?"

24

THE RING

Ithink to myself how these hosts are very interesting. I haven’t been this entertained in quite some time. Meetha, the Mistress of Death, seals me in an envelope and mails me closer to my destination.

Ah, what a delightful little romp this is. Humans never cease to amaze me with their capacity for cruelty and debauchery. This Meetha—now she's a special one. A purna masquerading as a human, playing games with mortals and immortals alike. Truly inspired.

The darkness envelops me as Meetha seals the envelope. Her fingers linger for a moment, tracing my curves one last time. I can almost taste her reluctance to part with me. But she knows, as I do, that my journey isn’t over yet.

"Off you go, little ring," she whispers. "May you find even more interesting hosts on your travels."

I feel myself being jostled, tossed into a sack with other parcels. The rhythmic sway tells me we're on the move. Ah, the open road again. Or sky. Or sea. It matters little to me.

As I settle among mundane parcels and letters, I call upon the subtle magic within me to mask my presence. A cleverdisguise ensures those ignorant of my power sense nothing amiss.

My thoughts drift back to Jarvil, that pathetic excuse for a thief. His greed makes him such an easy mark. I chuckle to myself, recalling how his ambitions flare and extinguish so easily in my grasp—a spark snuffed by his own greed. And Milkor, the demon trapped in elf's clothing—now there’s an entertaining fellow. I wonder how he’s faring as Meetha’s newest pet.

Ah, the contrast between them is stark. Jarvil represented the raw and greedy ambitions of mortals, while Milkor embodied an unpredictable wildness that keeps the game fresh. I ponder what role he’ll play upon my return.

The carriage rattles on, each bump bringing me closer to my next adventure. What delicious chaos awaits me at my new destination? Will it be another power-hungry mortal? A creature of myth and legend? Or perhaps something entirely new?

Meetha’s clever manipulations certainly set the bar high for my next host. What will fill the void she leaves behind? Her delightful blend of cruelty and cunning is a rare treat. I almost regret parting ways with such an entertaining purna—almost.

The carriage jolts, reminding me of my current predicament. Trapped in darkness, surrounded by mundane parcels and letters. How dreadfully dull. Yet, in this stillness lies a potential energy, waiting to be unleashed. Patience is a virtue I’ve cultivated over centuries. My next adventure awaits, and anticipation is half the fun.

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