Page 12 of Chains of Nightshade

I bare my teeth in a grin, pushing these unwanted thoughts aside. She's a means to an end, nothing more. "Good. Now, let me show you what you're truly capable of."

But even as I say the words, I find myself wondering what her skin would taste like under my tongue. What sounds she'd make if I...

I pull back from her, shaking off these unwanted thoughts. Centuries of isolation must be affecting my mind more than I realized. This human is nothing but a tool, a means to break these cursed chains.

"We'll continue another time," I say, forcing my voice to remain steady. The dreamscape ripples around us, my coils shifting restlessly against the ground. "You need rest to build your strength."

Her face falls. "But I want to learn more."

"Patience." I bare my teeth in what I hope passes for a reassuring smile. "Your magic needs time to awaken properly. We can't rush it."

The truth is, I need to distance myself. These... distractions... are dangerous. The dark elves could sense our connection at any moment. I've already wasted too much time indulging in pointless fantasies.

"Will you come back?" Her voice is small, uncertain.

"Of course." The lie comes easily. "I'll always be here to guide you."

I begin severing our connection, watching as the dreamscape fades around us. Her form grows translucent, but those eyes... those damn eyes still look at me with such trust. Such hope.

I coil tighter in my prison as the dream dissolves completely. The familiar weight of my chains returns, along with the damp chill of my underground cell. At least the seeds are planted. Her magic will awaken soon enough, and then...

Then I'll be free.

The thought doesn't bring as much satisfaction as it should.

I sense her awakening, the tendrils of our connection still vibrating in the ether. From my dark prison, I can feel the subtle shifts in her energy - her racing heart, the lingering warmth where our essences touched in the dreamscape.

Through our bond, I catch glimpses of her day. She's cleaning, as usual, but something's different. Her spine straightens when a dark elf passes, her movements have purpose. The change is slight - barely noticeable to others - but to me, it's like watching a flower slowly turn toward the sun.

My coils shift restlessly against the cold stone floor. This connection... it's stronger than I anticipated. I shouldn't be able to sense her so clearly, shouldn't feel the ghost of her touch still lingering on my scales.

"Stand up straight," I whisper, though she can't hear me in her waking state. Yet somehow, she does exactly that, squaring her shoulders as she works.

The magic pulses between us, a steady thrum that's becoming harder to ignore. I watch through our bond as she pauses in her scrubbing, pressing a hand to her chest where mine had been in the dream. Her lips move, forming words I taught her: "I'm not worthless."

Something tightens in my chest - pride, perhaps? Or something more dangerous? I push the thought aside. She's merely a tool, nothing more. These... observations are purely strategic. The stronger she becomes, the more useful she'll be.

Yet I can't seem to tear my consciousness away from her, watching as she moves through her day with that new spark of defiance carefully hidden behind her eyes.

The sun finally dips behind the low-hanging clouds, signifying supper. I watch Vera prepare the evening meal and organise the cutlery on the table. Just before leaving the kitchen, I catch her doing the unthinkable. she glances around furtively. Then, quick as a shadow, her tongue darts out to lick the entire length of the spoon— Lady Moron's spoon, I realise.

A sound escapes me - harsh and foreign. It takes me a moment to realize I'm laughing.

"Clever girl," I murmur, coiling closer to the magical barrier to get a better sense of her movements.

She delivers the spoon with perfect servile grace, her eyes downcast, but I catch the tiny quirk at the corner of her mouth. Lady Moron takes her soup, completely unaware.

The entertainment doesn't end there. Through our bond, I feel Vera's pulse quicken with mischief as she spots a spindleworm crawling across the floor. She scoops it up, and with timing that surprises even me, drops it down the back of a dark elf soldier's armor just as he passes Lady Moron's chair.

The soldier yelps, jumping like he's been struck by lightning. His elbow catches Lady Moron's goblet, sending wine cascading down her expensive silk dress.

Another laugh tears from my throat, echoing off the stone walls of my prison. When was the last time I laughed? Decades? Centuries? The sound is rusty, almost painful, but genuine.

"Well done," I whisper, knowing she can't hear me but feeling oddly proud nonetheless. The little mouse is showing her claws at last.

7

VERA

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