Page 65 of Semper

We reached the less formal dining room, the one reserved for times like this, when it was just the two of us. The table was already set with a light lunch, and everything was laid out perfectly, as always. Alexander pulled out a chair for me, his eyes lingering on mine as I sat. He took his place across from me, but just as I was about to start, Verity appeared, moving silently as she approached. She placed a glass of the usual fertility smoothie in front of me, along with the familiar small set of pills. Her soft smile was warm, almost maternal, as she gave a polite nod.

“Thank you, Verity,” I said, taking the pills from her with a nod in return. I swallowed them down with the smoothie, which had become routine at this point. The taste was always smooth, and fruity, masking the layers of purpose within it.

Verity disappeared as quickly as she’d come, and I turned my attention back to the table, loading my plate with a modest portion of the light meal set before me. It feltalmostnormal. The ever-present reminder of what my role was still lingered in the background, but for now, I allowed myself to slip into this moment. A quiet meal. Just the two of us.

And for once, it didn’t feel like I was drowning.

Alexander watched me carefully as I took a few bites of the meal, his eyes never leaving mine. There was always a quiet intensity between us, one that never fully dissipated, even in these more relaxed moments.

He sat back slightly, sipping from his glass before placing it back down, his gaze piercing as always. “What did you think of the ritual?” he asked, his voice soft yet commanding. There was no judgment in the question, just an expectation. He wanted the truth.

I hesitated for a moment, my fingers lightly tracing the edge of my fork. The images from the night before flickered in my mind—the flames, the chanting, the screams. It was still raw, the horror of what I’d seen and, in some ways, participated in. I could lie, and soften the truth, but something told me that wouldn’t do me any favors.

“It was unexpected,” I admitted, meeting his gaze. “Terrifying, in a way. It felt like I was caught between something sacred and something deeply wrong. And—” I stopped for a moment, choosing my words carefully. “What we ate, what it represented... I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about it.”

He nodded slowly, absorbing my words with that same quiet intensity. There was no flicker of surprise, no anger. He had expected this reaction. Of course, he had.

“I understand,” he said, his voice low, but steady. “It is overwhelming. It is meant to be.” He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locking onto mine. “What you felt that conflict, is part of the transformation. You are not simply an observer here, Lolita. You are becoming part of something far greater, far darker, than what you’ve known. It requires more than just understanding—it requires acceptance.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and he paused for a moment, letting them sink in before continuing.

“The Isle’s way is not easy, nor is it meant to be, but it’s where you belong now. Everything you experienced—the ceremony, the consumption—is part of claiming that belonging. To feel unsettled by it is normal. That will change in time.”

“And what if it doesn’t?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

His eyes darkened slightly, a shadow of something passing over his face. He leaned forward further, close enough now that I could feel the pull of his presence, his power.

“Then I will help you,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You will learn to embrace it, Lolita. You will accept it. That is inevitable.”

His words, though not threatening, left no room for doubt. There was no escape from this path. Not from him. Not from the Isle. I had chosen, and now I had to live with the consequences of that choice.

The thought sent a ripple of unease through me, but at the same time, there was something about his certainty—abouthiscertainty in me—that made me feel strangely secure, no matter how twisted it all was.

Alexander's gaze softened, but only slightly, as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly against the table.

“I have never felt prouder to have a woman by my side,” he said, his voice low and filled with something deeper, something that made my chest tighten. “You handled that in a way that proves you were always meant to be on Stygian, with our people. You belong here.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with certainty. There was no hesitation in his tone, no doubt in his mind. A small part of me bristled. It was true—I had handled the ceremony, survived the madness of it—but his certainty that I wasmeantto be here gnawed at me. For a brief moment, the nameClaricehovered on the edge of my tongue. His second wife, the one no one spoke of openly, but whose presence lingered like a ghost in the shadowsof the Isle. I knew she was still alive, somewhere here, but we had never spoken about her beyond the photograph.

I almost let the question slip, before catching myself.

This wasn’t the time, not here, not within the estate walls where every word was under scrutiny. I would ask him when we were alone, off the ground. For now, I held the question back, burying it deep.

“I do feel like I’m supposed to be here,” I replied honestly, my eyes meeting his. There was no point in lying to him, not now. “But I also can’t forget how I ended up here. The circumstances.” My voice faltered, and Anya’s face flashed in my mind, the weight of her memory crashing into me.

“I think about Anya. What happened to her. How I didn’t have a choice in coming to the Isle,” I continued, swallowing hard as the words tumbled out. “It’s hard to reconcile those feelings. To feel like I belong when part of me still remembers that I was taken.”

There was a silence that followed, heavy and uncomfortable, as Alexander’s expression remained unreadable.

I didn’t know what I expected him to say, or if he even would. But I couldn’t hold it in any longer. No matter how much I had been pulled into his world, there was still that part of me that hadn’t forgotten the life I had before.

“Anya,” he said, his voice hardening slightly. “We’re going to put that subject to rest once and for all today.” His hand reached out, firm yet gentle, and he took mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

“She fills spots in your mind that should be mine. I am your everything, there should be no one else inside that pretty head of yours.”

The intensity in his gaze, the conviction in his voice—it left no room for argument.

I hesitated, feeling the weight of what he was saying, the possessiveness that seemed to fuel every word. “I’m not sure it works that way,” I replied, my voice softer than I intended, as if part of me was already bending to his will.

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