Page 23 of Aries

“As before, hand-holding is permitted during the memory field,” they continue. “Are you prepared to proceed?”

Aries looks at me, concern evident in his expression. “We can still—”

“Yes,” I cut in. “We’re ready.”

His hand finds mine as the field activates. Spark presses close to my shoulder as everything dissolves into memory.

The sensation hits first—cold metal against my back where the guards shove me against the bars. The collar feels impossibly heavy, its weight a constant reminder of my helplessness. Through Past-me’s eyes, I watch Aries. It’s only now that I remember how big he seemed to me. His bronze skin dulled by the red emergency lighting.

Fear claws at my throat. Past-me catalogs possible escape routes, finding none. The cell is tiny—barely eight feet square. One cot, a sink, a toilet without privacy. No windows. No hope.

The loudspeaker’s announcement hits like a physical blow: “You have onehoarato breed with your cellmate. If you do not complete the act, we will execute both occupants of the cell.”

Past-me’s thoughts race:Can’t die here. Can’t let them win. Have to survive. Have to…

Through her eyes, I watch Aries carefully keep his distance. But there’s something else now—a deeper layer of Past-me’s terror that I’d buried so completely I’d almost forgotten it myself.

Never done this before. Twenty-three years old and never…The thought fragments as panic claws higher. Not just fear of pain, but of the unknown, of losing something that can never be returned.

Past-me’s inexperience shows in her trembling, in the way she doesn’t know how to position herself, in her wide-eyed terror that goes beyond situational fear to something more fundamental.

His attempt at gentleness only makes it worse somehow—highlighting the reality of what’s about to happen.

Present-Aries’ fingers link through mine as we observe. Spark radiates waves of comforting blue light.

“My name is Callie.” Past-me’s voice shakes, but she forces the words out. Names matter. Identity matters. They can’t take that away.

“Aries.” His response is quiet, careful, though the translation device in my ear makes the words monotone. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

Past-me’s thoughts fracture:He’s trying to help. He’s as trapped as I am. But oh god, I can’t…

What I now know to be the sound of a pain/kill collar being activated fills the air. A scream echoes from another cell almost simultaneously. Past-me flinches violently.

“We can’t wait much longer.” Aries’ voice holds genuine regret.

Past-me nods, tears falling. “Just… please be gentle?”

The plea carries layers Present-me had forgotten—not just “Don’t hurt me,” but “I don’t know what I’m doing,” and “This isn’t how I dreamed it would be.”

The fear is overwhelming now—not just of pain, but of this intimacy forced by violence. Past-me closes her eyes as Aries approaches. She tries to disappear inside herself.

The memory mercifully fades to darkness. When it resumes, a new understanding floods through me. Past-me lies curled on the narrow cot, not just processing trauma, but mourning. Mourning the loss of choice, of romance, of the gentle first time she’d imagined with someone who loved her.

Present-Aries’ grip on my hand tightens, and I know he’s understanding too—finally grasping the full cost of that moment.

“I’m sorry,” Aries whispers from across the cell. “I’m so sorry.”

Past-me can’t respond. Can’t acknowledge him or the gentleness that somehow made it worse. Because he tried—he really tried to make it bearable. And that leaves my past self with emotions too complex to process.

Through her eyes, I watch him withdraw into himself. See the walls building between us. Understand finally that his coldness wasn’t rejection—it was the only way he could cope with what he’d been forced to do. I’d never thought about his side of the equation, never realized he lost part ofhis soul because he was forced to participate in something he wanted no part of.

The memory field dissolves, leaving us shaking in our cottage. Aries releases my hand, rises and steps backward, his face a mask of horror.

“You were…” His voice breaks completely. “Callie, you were a virgin.”

It’s not a question. The memory field showed him everything—my inexperience, my deeper fears, the innocence I lost that night.

“It doesn’t matter—” I start, but he cuts me off.

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