Sorry i shouldn't have

Leah sat in her private study, her delicate fingers tracing idle patterns on the rim of a goblet filled with untouched wine. Despite the regal serenity she projected, her mind was a tempest of conflict. Yesterday, she had made a mistake—a grave, humiliating lapse of control that now chained her to a decision she had never truly meant to make. Adam was bound to her, not as an ally or a companion, but as a servant.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

Her dark side, the shadowed part of her soul she had long suppressed, had surged forward when she least expected it. It wasn't the first time she'd felt its pull, but yesterday, it had overtaken her entirely. Worse, she hadn't fought it—she hadn't wanted to. Deep down, a part of her had reveled in it, the same part that whispered dangerous things in her mind about Adam.

Adam, with his sharp wit and piercing eyes, wasn't like anyone she had encountered. He was a rival, a curiosity, and in her better moments, she believed he could even be a friend. But to the darkness, he was something else entirely—a challenge to be mastered, a plaything to be claimed.

And now, he was hers. Entirely hers.

The thought filled her with both satisfaction and a bitter pang of regret. She hated herself for letting it happen this way. Leah adjusted her posture, her movements as fluid and controlled as always, but her emerald eyes betrayed her unease. This isn't who I want to be, she thought, though she wasn't entirely sure if that was true.

"Adam," she called softly, her voice echoing through the chamber with a musical authority. "Come here. I wish to speak with you."

Moments later, Adam entered the room. His gait was steady, but his expression was anything but. His amber eyes were sharp, laced with a simmering frustration that he didn't bother to hide. When he spoke, there was no deference in his tone, only exasperation.

"What is it?" he asked flatly.

Leah's lips pressed into a thin line. She folded her hands in her lap, her regal demeanor intact, though her heart weighed heavily. She hated the way he looked at her now—without the spark of intrigue or the grudging respect she had enjoyed before.

"About what happened yesterday," she began, her voice steady but quieter than usual. "I owe you an apology. I... lost control. I did something thoughtless. Unworthy. And I deeply regret it."

Adam's brow arched. "Regret it? Sure. Then undo it. Remove whatever it is you did to me."

The bluntness of his words stung more than she expected. Leah's composure faltered for a fraction of a second, but she quickly recovered, her expression once again unreadable. She didn't respond immediately. Instead, she looked down at her hands, as if the answer were written in the delicate curve of her fingers.

"Ah," Adam said bitterly, breaking the silence. "I see. You can't remove it, or you don't know how. Am I right?"

Her eyes flicked back to his, sharp and unyielding now, though her tone remained measured. "It is... complicated."

"Complicated," Adam repeated, the word dripping with disdain. "Of course, it is."

Leah let out a quiet sigh. "I never intended for this to happen," she said, her voice softer now, almost tender. "I wanted you as an ally, perhaps even as a friend. But yesterday, I—" She hesitated, searching for the right words. "I let myself act on impulses I thought I had long buried. And for that, I am truly sorry."

Adam shook his head, a humorless laugh escaping him. "And yet, here we are. Me, your puppet. You, sitting there, feeling sorry about it."

Leah rose from her seat then, her movements graceful and deliberate. She crossed the room, stopping a few paces in front of him. Her presence was commanding, regal, as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders and she bore it with effortless grace.

"I am not asking for your forgiveness, Adam," she said, her voice regaining its strength. "But I am asking for your patience. I will make this right. Somehow."

Adam looked at her, his expression caught between anger and something softer—weariness, perhaps. "You'd better," he muttered, though the defiance in his voice was muted now.

Leah inclined her head slightly, her emerald eyes holding his. "I promise you this: Whatever it takes, I will find a way. Until then…" She hesitated, her lips curving into a faint, bittersweet smile. "Please bear with me."

He said nothing, but the tension in the room lingered as he turned and left without another word.

Leah watched him go, her heart heavy with the weight of her own missteps. Alone again, she sank back into her chair, her mind a tangle of regrets and quiet determination. I will fix this, she vowed silently. Even if it means facing the darkness in myself once more.

As Leah sat in the stillness of her chamber, a voice coiled in the depths of her mind, smooth and sinister, a whisper yet deafening.

"Why fix it? Why deny what you want... what you desire? Control, Leah. It's always been about control."

Her fingers tightened on the edge of her armrest, the faint tremor betraying the storm within her. The voice was hers, and yet it wasn't. It spoke with the cadence of her darkest impulses, echoing truths she dared not acknowledge.

The memories surfaced unbidden, vivid as though they had just occurred. Adam's sharp eyes, the way they tracked her every move with a cunning that rivaled her own. The way he anticipated her needs before she could voice them. Without prompting, he had solved dilemmas that had confounded her advisors, navigating courtly intrigues with the instinctual precision of a wolf sniffing out prey.

And yet, he did it all so effortlessly, as though it was second nature to him. Without expecting thanks. Without expecting acknowledgment. Like a loyal hound bringing offerings to a master it hoped to please.

But Adam was no hound. He was a person. A man with his own desires, his own needs, his own burdens. And she—she had taken that away from him in a moment of weakness. A moment of unbridled indulgence.

"Weakness?" the voice purred mockingly. "Don't lie to yourself. It wasn't weakness. It was power. It felt good, didn't it? To see him submit. To know he's yours. Body and soul."

Leah clenched her jaw, shaking her head slightly, as if the motion alone could banish the voice. But it pressed on, relentless.

"He's the most entertaining and useful creature you've encountered in years," it crooned. "His mind is sharp, his loyalty forced but unwavering. You could shape him into something exquisite, something perfect. Why would you throw that away? For guilt? For morality? You've done worse for far less."

Her thoughts churned violently, a battle between reason and that lurking hunger that had always resided in her. It was true, wasn't it? Adam had become indispensable. He had a way of seeing through her carefully constructed façade, of acting not out of obligation but out of an uncanny ability to discern what needed to be done. He had become… important. Too important. And it had unnerved her.

And yet, despite his cleverness, he had fallen under her spell, bound by a contract he had no power to resist. She had taken away his freedom, his agency, and in doing so, she had poisoned the tenuous bond they had begun to form. His usefulness, his brilliance, had never been in question. But now… now he was no longer an ally. He was a prisoner.

"And whose fault is that?" the voice hissed. "Not his. Yours. If only he hadn't been so good at what he does. If only he hadn't seen through your troubles and fixed them like some devoted servant. If only he hadn't made himself so… irresistible."

Leah's breath hitched at the word, and she closed her eyes, fighting against the tide of emotions. No, this wasn't his fault. It had never been his fault. Adam was clever, resourceful, and kind in a way that disarmed her. That wasn't a flaw. That was his nature. The flaw was in her, in her inability to separate her humanity from the darkness that had always loomed at the edges of her soul.

"I will bear this," she whispered, her voice trembling yet resolute.

"Bear it? You'll embrace it," the voice countered, laced with cruel amusement. "You always have. You can tell yourself you'll fix this, that you'll undo the damage, but deep down, you don't want to. Deep down, you like what you've done. You like knowing he's yours. That he'll obey, no matter what. It makes you feel alive. Admit it."

Leah pressed her hands to her temples, her breathing unsteady. She couldn't let herself fall further into this abyss. Adam didn't deserve this. He deserved her respect, her honesty, her care. Not this twisted, possessive mockery of companionship. And yet…

And yet.

That dark part of her whispered sweet promises, tempting her with visions of a world where Adam remained at her side, bound and devoted, his sharp mind a tool to be honed and wielded for her glory. A pet. A toy. A rival. A friend. All of them and none of them.

The conflict tore at her, each side pulling her closer to an edge she wasn't sure she could navigate. She was a queen, a ruler who thrived on power and control. But she was also Leah—the girl who had once dreamed of alliances, of equals who could stand beside her rather than beneath her.

For the first time in years, she felt vulnerable. Vulnerable because she cared, even if only a little. Vulnerable because Adam had managed to slip past her defenses in ways no one else ever had.

"I will fix this," she said aloud, her voice firmer now, though the words tasted hollow.

"Fix it? Or twist it further to suit your desires?" the darkness mocked.

Leah's eyes hardened, the queen within her pushing to the forefront. She didn't know the answer. Not yet. But one thing was certain: Adam had changed her. And whether that change would save her or destroy her, only time would tell.

______________

Adam paced back and forth in the dim chamber he had claimed for himself within the queen's palace, his movements sharp, frantic. His hands twisted together, his nails biting into his palms, and his muttering filled the air like static. The flickering candlelight painted jagged shadows across the walls, making him appear like a specter locked in battle with his own demons.

"Why? Why does it always have to be this way? Why do I always end up at the worst possible crossroads?" His voice rose and cracked, the frustration bleeding through every word. He threw himself into the nearest chair, his head falling into his hands.

"Maybe this is it," he muttered bitterly. "Maybe I am cursed. Maybe this is my fate: to stumble from one disaster to the next, never reaching my goals, never finding peace. Maybe... maybe I was never meant to succeed. Just meant to perish like the failure I—"

Adam snapped upright, a sharp intake of breath interrupting his spiral. "No. No, stop it. This isn't helping. This is just... spiraling. Focus, Adam. Focus." He planted his feet firmly on the ground, his fingers gripping the edges of the chair until his knuckles turned white. His chest heaved as he forced his breathing to slow, to steady.

"You've been through worse," he told himself, though the words rang hollow in his ears. His mind raced, darting between possibilities, weighing plans against impossibilities. Whatever had happened—whatever Leah had done—there had to be a way to fight it. To fight her.

Adam's eyes flicked to the small pile of books he had been scavenging through, tomes on magic both ancient and esoteric. "She says she'll help," he scoffed aloud, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "And maybe she means it. Or maybe she doesn't. But either way, I can't rely on her. No... no, I need a plan. My own plan. Something she can't see coming."

The idea that had been forming in the back of his mind took shape, fragile but undeniable. Magic. The very force that had ensnared him might also be the key to his freedom. He stood abruptly, pacing again, his words spilling out as if saying them aloud might make them real.

"Magic isn't what I thought it was," he mused, his tone shifting into something almost manic. His eyes glinted in the low light, an unsettling mixture of sharp intellect and fraying sanity. "Not entirely. There's... there's more to it. It's not just bending reality, like my elemental magic. It's not just turning one thing into another. No, there's another kind. Another type."

He slammed a book shut, startling the air around him. "Ritual magic," he declared, the words tinged with both certainty and wild desperation. "It's about rules. Immutable, unyielding rules. Rituals. Symbols. Things that tap into... I don't know, the fabric of something deeper. Something intangible."

The memory of Miss Eldez's spell danced in his mind. The way she had used his hair and Dyrk's, weaving them into a bond of understanding. It hadn't been an act of reshaping reality but rather of exploiting some innate connection, some symbolic truth.

"Symbolism," he murmured, his voice growing steadier, his thoughts coalescing. "It's all about symbolism. Hair tied to language, to connection. Maybe... maybe this world's magic isn't just a tool but a language itself. Stories, myths, histories—all these things binding together into... rules. Laws."

He stopped pacing, his gaze locking onto the pile of books again, though his eyes were unfocused, staring past them. His lips twitched into a grin that was far too sharp, too wide. "If I can understand the rules," he whispered, his voice trembling with both excitement and madness, "then I can break them. Or rewrite them."

Adam's laughter bubbled up, unbidden and unhinged. "Yes! That's it! A spell. A ritual. Something that uses the same symbolic foundations Leah used to trap me. Something to erase her control. If she used her power to claim me, I'll use mine to reclaim myself."

The idea was intoxicating, a lifeline in the suffocating darkness that had enveloped him since Leah had bound him. But as he paced, the flickering candlelight cast his grin in an eerie light, making his shadow lurch and twist across the walls like some unholy thing.

His fingers drummed against his thigh as his mind raced faster than his body could keep up. "But it has to be perfect. I can't afford a mistake. If I'm wrong, if I miss something, if I fail... no, I won't fail. I can't." His voice was both a mantra and a warning, his own fears snapping at his heels like hungry dogs.

He stopped suddenly, his breathing ragged but his resolve burning fiercely. "Leah thinks she's won. That I'm hers. But she doesn't realize... you can't keep a wolf on a leash without it biting back."

For the first time in what felt like ages, Adam smiled. And though it carried the weight of his fraying sanity, it also held a spark of defiance—a reminder that no matter how broken he felt, no matter how hopeless things seemed, he was still fighting. Still planning. Still alive.

And if Leah thought she could control him forever, she was about to learn how wrong she was.

Adam's thoughts churned like a storm at sea, chaotic but vibrant with revelation. He sat cross-legged on the cold floor, a tattered notebook sprawled open before him, pages already littered with half-finished sketches and frantically scrawled notes. His mind was alight with a dangerous mix of desperation and inspiration.

"There are rules… or rather, laws," Adam muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand dragged through his hair, leaving it disheveled. "Laws I learned back on Earth. The laws of thermodynamics. The conservation of energy. Newton's laws of motion. Gravity. Electromagnetism. Everything in the universe follows these fundamental principles."

He jabbed the notebook with his pen, underlining a particularly erratic equation he had scrawled moments earlier. "But magic... magic doesn't. Or does it? No, wait." He paused, the pen hovering mid-air as a new idea clawed its way into his mind. "If ritual magic is rooted in mythology and symbolism, then why would it need laws? Or—wait—could there be more? More than two kinds of magic?"

The revelation struck him like a bolt of lightning. He began pacing the room, his voice rising as if speaking aloud would force the pieces of the puzzle to fit together. "It's not just material magic and ritual magic. There has to be at least three types. Material magic, ritual magic, and… law magic!"

His voice trembled with excitement, the concept taking shape as he spoke. "Law magic—magic that follows the fundamental principles of the universe! The immutable rules that govern reality. The speed of light. Entropy. The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. The strong and weak nuclear forces. The laws of cause and effect."

He stopped, staring at his notes as though they held the secrets of the cosmos. "But… if that's true, then the magic Ms. Eldez used wasn't purely ritual magic. It was… it was hybrid magic. A blend of ritual magic and law magic. The ritual used symbolism—our hair, tied to connection, language, communication—but the mechanism, the way it actually worked, must have obeyed deeper universal laws. A fusion of myth and physics."

Adam's thoughts spiraled deeper, his mind racing faster than he could keep up. He scribbled furiously, equations mixing with diagrams and phrases like symbolic constants and ritual vectors. "If Ms. Eldez's magic was a combination, then… can I mix more? Can I combine material magic with law magic? Or ritual magic with material magic? Hell, why stop there? What if I could use all three at once?"

The possibilities stretched out before him like a vast, uncharted map. His breathing quickened as his mind jumped to examples. "Material magic manipulates matter directly—turning one thing into another. Ritual magic relies on the rules of symbolism, drawing on history, myth, and archetypes. And law magic… it could manipulate the very fabric of reality by obeying or bending universal laws."

He paused, a manic grin spreading across his face. "If I could combine these… what would that even look like? Imagine using material magic to shape raw matter, ritual magic to imbue it with symbolic meaning, and law magic to anchor it in reality. It'd be… no, it'd be godlike."

Adam's laughter filled the room, tinged with both exhilaration and madness. He spun around, his arms gesturing wildly. "But it's not just about power. It's about control. If I can understand the laws of magic—if I can see the connections between them—then I can rewrite them. I could undo Leah's spell. I could break free."

His expression darkened for a moment, the weight of his situation pressing down on him like an anvil. "But… it has to be perfect. If I'm wrong—if I miscalculate even one thing—I could end up breaking myself instead. Or worse, breaking everything."

Adam clenched his fists, his determination solidifying into steel. "That's the risk I have to take. Because if magic follows laws, then laws can be learned. And if laws can be learned, they can be broken. Or better yet—remade."

He turned back to his notebook, his pen scratching furiously as he began to outline his plan. His thoughts were wild but precise, like a hurricane of logic tearing through a forest of uncertainty.

"Three types of magic," he muttered. "Three systems, three languages. And if I can learn to speak them all… I can make myself understood. To Leah. To the world. To whatever the hell cursed me in the first place."

For the first time in days, Adam felt something stir within him—something brighter than desperation. It wasn't hope, not exactly, but it was close. It was the faintest glimmer of triumph, buried beneath layers of fear and doubt.

"Laws," Adam repeated, his voice soft but resolute. "Laws are meant to be obeyed. Until someone like me decides they're not."

Drip... drip... dripdrip.

Adam froze. The sound was soft at first, barely audible over the frantic scribbles of his pen, but it grew louder, sharper. A cold sensation spread across his upper lip. Instinctively, his fingers brushed against his nose, and they came away wet. The faint metallic tang of iron reached his nostrils.

"What?" he muttered, disoriented. His gaze darted downward, and there it was—a small, glistening pool of liquid forming on the ground beneath him. Panic set in as he registered the unnatural hue.

His blood was blue.

"What the hell?!" Adam staggered backward, his legs trembling as if they were about to give out. His breathing grew rapid, erratic. "Why… why is it blue? What's happening to me?"

His mind raced, spiraling out of control. He touched his face again, almost desperate to prove it was a trick of the light, but the truth was undeniable. Thick, cobalt-colored droplets smeared across his trembling fingers.

The acrid taste of bile rose in his throat as he stumbled back, collapsing against the cold stone wall of the room. His head throbbed, and the world spun. "What am I doing? Why am I here? What… what is this?" His voice cracked, each question laced with growing hysteria.

Then the memories slammed into him like a freight train. Equations, theories, and laws that didn't belong in his mind flooded back, clearer now than when he'd scribbled them moments ago. "How do I even know this stuff? I'm not a scientist! I'm an office worker—a failure who barely graduated high school, let alone college. I don't…" His voice broke, a sob hitching in his throat.

And then it hit him. The nightmare. The jade-colored waters. The chains that stretched into infinity. The monstrous, otherworldly entity with its piercing, unfathomable gaze.

"That thing," he whispered, his voice trembling. "It… it did something to me. Filled my head with knowledge that doesn't belong to me. No, not knowledge—understanding. I'm seeing the world differently. Higher, broader… clearer. But it's wrong. It's not supposed to be like this!"

The realization struck him like a dagger to the chest. His head tilted back against the wall as his body slumped lower. His vision blurred, but he caught sight of his reflection in a nearby shard of broken glass. What stared back at him wasn't entirely human anymore.

His irises glowed faintly, a luminous blue that pulsed in rhythm with his erratic heartbeat. The hue of his blood stained his lips, running in thin streams down his chin like the tears he hadn't yet allowed himself to shed.

"It's the magic…" Adam murmured. "It has to be the magic. Did I… did I poison myself? Was it something I did wrong? Mixing magics, pushing too far—" He broke off, clutching his temples as a sharp, searing pain lanced through his skull. His breath came in short, panicked gasps.

It wasn't just his body. It was his mind. The knowledge that had seemed like a gift moments ago was consuming him, tearing at the edges of his sanity. He wasn't just seeing the world differently—he was seeing too much. Like staring directly into the sun, the sheer magnitude of what he now understood was burning him from the inside out.

And then, amid the chaos, a horrifying clarity settled over him.

"Ah," he whispered, a bitter, mirthless laugh escaping his lips. "So that's it. That's why you don't mix magics. You don't combine what shouldn't be combined. It doesn't just break the rules—it breaks you."

The laugh turned to a growl, and then to a scream of frustration. He slammed his fists against the ground, blue blood splattering around him like ink from a broken pen. "Why?" he shouted, his voice raw. "Why can't I just live in peace? Why do you bastards keep controlling me, twisting me, breaking me? First Leah, now this. I didn't ask for any of it!"

His breaths came in ragged gulps, his chest heaving as he finally gave in to the tears that burned behind his eyes. For a moment, he let himself be weak, let the crushing weight of everything he'd been through—everything he'd become—pull him down.

But even as the tears fell, a spark of defiance flickered in his chest.

"No," Adam said, his voice hoarse but resolute. "You don't get to win. Not Leah. Not whatever the hell you are. I'll figure this out. I'll take control. And if I can't…" His bloodied hands clenched into fists, trembling with equal parts fear and fury. "Then I'll burn the whole damn system to the ground."

He sat there for what felt like hours, the room silent except for the slow, rhythmic drip of his blood hitting the floor. His vision cleared just enough to focus on the notebook lying open before him, its pages smeared with ink and streaked with blue.

The madness wasn't gone—it never would be—but for now, it was caged. And for Adam, that would have to be enough.

He lay on the cold stone floor, staring at the cracked ceiling above him. The weight of his thoughts pressed down on him like a smothering fog.

"Magic," he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue like a curse and a revelation all at once. "If I take in too much, I get poisoned. My body rebels, my mind twists. But… what happens if I use too much instead?"

A wild, unhinged grin spread across his face. His bloodied lips stretched wide as a manic laugh bubbled from deep within him. "Heh... hahah... let's find out."

Adam raised his arm, palm facing upward. He conjured a small spark of flame, letting it dance across his fingertips. The warmth was comforting at first, almost pleasant. The flicker grew, fed by his will, expanding into a flame that illuminated the darkened room.

It wasn't enough.

"Bigger," he muttered. The flame obeyed, swelling into a roaring ball of fire that hissed and crackled with energy. The heat singed the air around him, warping the space like a mirage. But still, it wasn't enough.

Adam's chest rose and fell with shallow, erratic breaths. His grin faded into something colder, more resolute. "If… if I can manipulate reality, then why stop at fire? What happens if I use it… on myself?"

Without hesitation, he brought the blazing orb of fire down onto his chest. The searing heat licked at his skin, yet there was no pain. Instead, the flames spread, sinking into his body like molten rivers flowing through his veins.

His heart raced. His blood boiled—literally. A fiery warmth coursed through him, filling every nerve and muscle. His vision blurred as the room spun. His body screamed for relief, but his mind refused to yield.

Adrenaline surged, his senses heightened to an unbearable degree. He felt stronger, faster, alive in a way he hadn't thought possible. Every cell in his body seemed to thrum with raw energy.

The flames consumed him, but they didn't destroy him. They became a part of him.

And then… darkness.

Adam woke to the acrid stench of charred wood and smoke. His vision swam as he sat up, the burned remains of his room coming into focus. The walls were scorched black, and the air was thick with ash.

But he was fine.

His clothes were tattered and singed, but his skin was unmarked. His body ached in a way that felt almost… satisfying, like the aftermath of a hard-won fight. He flexed his fingers, feeling the lingering heat beneath his skin.

"I did it," he whispered, a slow smile creeping across his face. "I see it now. I know what's happening."

The warmth in his chest didn't fade. It remained, a constant hum of power that he could feel with every beat of his heart.

"This mistake…" he murmured, running a hand through his messy hair. "It taught me something. I've learned. I can do more now—so much more."

He stood, the remnants of his bed crunching beneath his feet as he gazed out the window. The horizon burned with the colors of dawn, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Adam felt a strange sense of clarity.

"And soon," he said, his smile widening, his voice a mix of triumph and resignation, "soon, I'll finally die."

His laughter echoed through the charred room, unsteady and tinged with madness, as the first rays of sunlight illuminated the destruction he had wrought.

_______________

The next day, Queen Leah summoned Adam to her chambers, her expression as unreadable as ever. She had spent the night reflecting, but the guilt she felt clung to her like a shadow, even as she resolved to wear her crown of thorns with grace.

"Adam," she began, her tone light yet cutting, "I heard your room caught fire. Care to explain?"

Adam stood before her, his demeanor unnervingly calm. There was none of the defiance or humor she had come to expect—just an eerie stillness. He met her gaze without flinching, his voice measured.

"Oh, that was me," he replied flatly. "I was experimenting with magic. Don't worry—it's under control. And with my experiments proving successful, the results should benefit you significantly in the future… master."

The word landed like a stone in her chest. Leah's lips tightened as a wave of disgust swept through her—not at him, but at herself. She had done this. She had shaped him into this hollow, compliant version of himself, all because she couldn't contain her own darkness.

Still, she couldn't let herself falter. She straightened her posture and allowed a cold smile to creep onto her face. "Good. Adam, come."

Adam obeyed, stepping closer without hesitation. But something about it felt different to Leah. It wasn't the spell compelling him—it was Adam himself, willingly following her command.

"Adam, sit," she said, testing him.

He lowered himself onto the floor without protest.

"Adam…" She extended her hand, a mocking glint in her eye. "Paw."

Adam silently placed his hand in hers, his movements mechanical.

She studied him for a moment, her expression hardening. "Adam, do you trust me?"

His response was immediate, his voice devoid of hesitation or emotion. "No."

A flicker of something unreadable passed through Leah's eyes. Then she smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Good."

If he had said yes, she might have shattered completely. She didn't deserve his trust, not after what she had done. Instead, she resolved to play her role—to be the villain in his story if it meant saving him in the end. She would let her darkness run free, let it feast on this cruel dynamic, if only to spare him from her worse impulses.

Leah leaned forward, her tone sharp but her gaze searching. "Adam… bark."

For a moment, there was silence. Adam didn't move, didn't flinch. He simply stared at her with those empty, unsettling eyes.

"Good," she said softly, almost to herself. The fact that he resisted filled her with a strange, bitter satisfaction. Somewhere in the void of him, there was still something unbroken.

Her gaze lingered on him longer than she intended. Something seemed… different. His posture, his frame—it wasn't just his demeanor. "Adam," she said, her voice quieter now, "have you… grown?"

Adam blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion. "What?" He looked down at himself, his eyes widening as realization dawned. His limbs were longer, his face sharper, no longer the soft features of a child but edging closer to the awkward beginnings of adolescence. He touched his hands, then his chest, then back to Leah.

"What?" he repeated, his voice rising in alarm.

Leah's smile returned, this time colder and more calculating. "Interesting," she murmured. "It seems magic does more than burn. Perhaps it molds. Changes. Warps. Tell me, Adam—what did you do to yourself this time?"

"I… I don't know," Adam muttered, his voice cracking slightly as his composure wavered. But then his shoulders straightened, and the emptiness returned to his gaze. "Does it matter? None of this matters."

Leah's smile faltered for just a moment. His despair was sharper than any blade, cutting through even her well-honed armor of cruelty. But she pushed the feeling aside, letting her darkness rise to drown it.

"No," she said with a dismissive wave, her voice laced with icy authority. "It doesn't matter. You are mine, Adam, and whatever you become will serve me. That's all you need to know."

Adam said nothing, his silence a deafening response. As he sat there, caught between his despair and her dominion, Leah couldn't help but wonder which of them was truly in control—and whether either of them would survive the answer.