The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was the largest gathering since the storied Festival of Lights. The central square thrummed with expectation. Violet banners hung from broken lampposts, painted across old marble facades, staked into the ground where once market stalls had stood.

A massive stage had been erected — not crude scaffolding, but a platform of blackstone and crystal, humming faintly with Kael’s amplifier frequencies. On its edge, soldiers in dark uniforms stood in perfect formation. At their head was Mira.

Mira wore no crown, no medals — only a black coat edged in violet, her posture sharp as a blade. She had been chosen to lead the Eclipse Youth Followers, the youth oriented militant arm of this new order. Her voice alone could marshal thousands. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and where they landed, people lowered their gazes, cowed without her needing to speak. If Eclipse was divinity, Mira had become its iron general.

Kaia stood near the center of the platform, her hands folded over the silver insignia newly pinned at her chest. She was purposed to oversee the Justice Academy, reshaped in Eclipse’s vision — not as a place of judgment, but as a crucible of obedience and order. Pride glowed in her expression, a quiet fervor that mirrored the crowd’s.

The square fell silent when Eclipse appeared.

She did not descend in light or fire. She simply walked onto the stage, and stillness fell like a shroud. Her presence pressed into the skin of every person, the edge of every thought.

Veil followed at her side, radiant in violet silk, a bridal veil of silk and violet glimmering like starlight over her hair. She carried herself not as one diminished by vows but as one exalted, smiling as though she had been born to embody Eclipse’s love. Bride of Eclipse. The words murmured through the crowd like a psalm.

And then came Solarian.

He walked freely, not dragged in chains — but around his throat gleamed the collar, the leash trailing into Eclipse’s hand. The sight rippled through the crowd: disbelief, awe, hunger. Solarian, the flame of rebellion, submitting not by force but by choice.

At the stage’s center he stopped, bowed, and then knelt. The leash grew taut in Eclipse’s hand.

She placed her palm on his head, not with cruelty, but with serene inevitability.

The crowd erupted. Some cheered, some wept, some only stared. But none turned away.

The hall glimmered with violet banners and silver firelight. At the dais, Vanessa Pryce’s voice rang out, smooth and authoritative, commanding the attention of every guest gathered beneath the vaulted ceiling.

“People of the new dawn, bear witness. From shadow, from song, from sacrifice — we stand at the threshold of a reign unlike any other. It is my honor to present not only our sovereign, but those chosen vessels through whom her brilliance flows.”

She turned slightly, one jeweled hand extended toward Mira, who stepped forward from Eclipse’s side. The orb behind them pulsed faintly, as if breathing with its mistress’s anticipation.

“Mira Halden,” Pryce announced, her words sharp as a trumpet’s call, “first of the faithful, voice of resonance, child of the orb’s own design. She now speaks as herald to Eclipse.”

The chamber hushed.

Mira’s eyes shimmered violet in the firelight as she lifted her gaze to the assembly. Her voice was clear, melodic, carrying that faint undertone of the cadence that made spines stiffen and hearts race.

“Tonight,” Mira said, “you are not merely witnesses. You are participants in a becoming. The song has been chosen, and we have answered. You will hear its truth in every stone, every stream, every breath you take from this night forward. Eclipse rises, not as a tyrant… but as inevitability.”

Her lips curved in something too sharp to be called a smile, and said, “The tide does not ask permission before it claims the shore.”

A murmur rippled through the hall — awe from some, unease from others. Mira bowed her head, a perfect vessel of devotion, then stepped back into place beside the orb.

The banners rippled again as Vanessa Pryce lifted her hand, her jeweled bracelets catching the violet light, Eclipse smiling as her public puppet spoke her words, her truth.

“Order,” she declared, her voice echoing across the chamber. “Discipline. Renewal. These are the pillars upon which our new world must be built. To guide the young, to forge the defenders of tomorrow, a new institution rises under Eclipse’s vision. The New Justice Academy.”

Her tone sharpened, ceremonial and resolute.

“At its helm stands one whose loyalty and strength are unshaken. One whose fire has been tempered into command. Step forward — Kaia, Commander and Head of the New Justice Academy.”

From the shadows of the dais, Kaia strode into the light. She wore her new uniform — black fabric edged with violet trim, the crest of the Academy stitched in silver over her chest. The cut was martial, crisp, designed for command rather than ornament. A faint gleam of armor plates rested across her shoulders and forearms, catching the firelight as she stopped before the assembly.

Kaia’s stance was sharp, military precise. She inclined her head to Vanessa, then addressed the hall in clipped, measured tones.

“The New Justice Academy will shape the future. No longer will chaos and indecision dictate who carries power. We will train a generation with clarity, strength, and loyalty to Eclipse’s vision. Every student will understand discipline not as burden, but as honor.”

Her silver eyes swept the hall — steady, unblinking, radiating certainty.

“Justice is no longer a word for the weak to hide behind. It is a weapon. And we will wield it.”

A beat of silence followed. Kaia offered a single sharp nod, then stepped back, folding her hands behind her back in disciplined rest, the violet-trimmed uniform gleaming as she took her place beside the other loyalists.

Vanessa Pryce raised her voice again, her smile thin and satisfied.

“The Academy stands. The future is secured. Let all present bear witness.”

The applause was hers for a breath, then swallowed again by Eclipse’s gravity.

At last, Eclipse lifted her hand. Silence fell. Her voice carried, woven through Kael’s amplifiers, threading into every ear and every heart with silken precision.

“Citizens of New Lysoria, children of the Wellspring… look at me. Hear me. Understand me,” the new leader began.

“I was not born to this crown. I was not bred for power. Once, I was as you are—subject to leaders who promised light but gave us only shadows. They called it freedom, but in truth it was chaos. They called it strength, but it was fragility. They raised idols of fire, wealth, and ambition… and in their blaze, the weak were burned to ash, Eclipse said, looking at Solarian.

“I was consumed in that fire. You know this. They sentenced me to death because I dared to question them. They sought to silence me, to erase me, as though their lies could endure forever. But I returned. Stronger. Clearer. Marked not by fire, but by shadow.”

The crowd applauded loudly, the amplifiers working wonders.

“Why do I call myself Eclipse?” the Madame asked rhetorically.

“Because an eclipse is not destruction. It is balance. It is order. It is shadow reminding light that it cannot blind forever. Light without shadow is arrogance. Shadow without light is despair. But the two, entwined, form harmony. That is why I stand before you now—not as one who serves the light, nor as one who banishes it—but as one who s them.”

Lady Veil smiled widely as Solarian knelt.

“Some of you tremble when you see the Orb behind me. Some of you feel its rhythm in your blood and call it chains. But I tell you the truth: it is not bondage. It is alignment. Each beat is the Wellspring itself, the pulse of our city, our people, our destiny. You have felt the chaos of division—streets filled with protest, officials drunk on power, crime flourishing in the cracks between factions. That is not freedom. That is disease. And like any disease, it must be cut away, cauterized, and replaced with health.”

The crowd agreed, standing and applauding.

“I have been asked to take control because no one else can. Because the so-called High , and the Council, and the academies—all of them—were content to let the city rot while they gorged themselves. You know this is true. You lived it. And you despised it.”

The message hit a high note with the assembled crowd.

“Now, the old order is no more. Their thrones are dust. Their chains are broken. And in their place, I give you certainty. Purpose. Harmony,” Eclipse continued.

“Do not mistake my will for cruelty. I do not take your choices from you to punish you. I take them because choice has been poisoned. Too long have you been manipulated by false leaders, false freedoms, false fires, false choices. I will give you new choices: to serve, to build, to rise—not as rivals, not as divided factions, but as one New Lysoria.”

The crowd loved it, applauded on their feet again.

“What is my plan?” Eclipse started.

“First, order. Already, in a short time, my voice reaches every corner of this city. Law will no longer bend for the powerful, nor break the weak. Justice will be swift, guided by those loyal to me, loyal to the Wellspring’s pulse. The streets will no longer run with unrest. They will beat with the rhythm of unity.”

Eclipse scanned the crowd and smiled as they lived for each word.

“Second, devotion. Each of you will learn the power of surrender. Not to me, but through me. When you yield to the rhythm of the Orb, you do not become less. You become whole. You become free of doubt, free of weakness, free of fear. Veil, Solarian, Mira—all who have already given themselves—stand as proof. Do they look broken? No. They shine brighter than they ever did, because they no longer resist the harmony within them.”

Veil smiled as she stood above Solarian, collared and leashed.

“Third, vision. New Lysoria will not remain a fractured city crouching beneath the shadow of the Wellspring. It will rise as its own star—united, radiant, indomitable. From here, our order will spread. Other cities, other factions, other pretenders will see the strength of harmony, and they too will kneel. Not to be conquered—but to be perfected.”

Eclipse had the crowd lapping up her every word.

“And what of you, my citizens? You will not be slaves. You will be part of something greater. You will walk streets free of hunger, free of crime, free of the endless gnawing uncertainty that plagued you. You will carry your duties with pride, not dread. You will live as one body, one mind, one city,” the violet clad leader pressed.

“I do not demand worship. I demand trust. Trust that I—who was cast into death and rose in shadow—will not abandon you. Trust that the Orb beats not for me alone, but for us all.”

The unity theme was playing well, everyone was on their feet.

“From this day forth, New Lysoria belongs to Eclipse. Not the woman. The order. The unity. The shadow entwined with the light,” Eclipse said, as a violet spotlight draped around her like a cloak of shadow.

“Kneel for me now—not in humiliation, but in acceptance. And when you rise, you will rise as one New Lysoria. Together, we are more than free. We are inevitable.”

Eclipse waited for the noise to die before issuing the first order of her reign.

“Kneel.”

Her voice fell into silence. Across New Lysoria, the amplifiers thrummed with the Orb’s pulse. And one by one, the citizens of the city bent the knee.

It was not a command shouted but a whisper magnified into law. And thousands obeyed. Bodies folded to the stone, heads bowed, breath caught in reverent unison.

The square became a sea of bent spines, a single motion of surrender.

All except one.

At the farthest edge, cloaked beneath the shadow of a broken arch, Lyra Halden did not kneel.

Her fists clenched, her jaw set. She stared at the stage — at Eclipse serene, at Veil radiant, at Solarian bound — and though the violet weight pressed heavy, she stood.

Someone noticed. A watcher in the press of bodies, eyes sharp, gaze fixed not on the stage but on her.

Lyra felt the prickle of being seen. She did not move. She only straightened, her rage and resolve a flare against the tide.

In a city bowed to shadow, one stood tall.

And Eclipse smiled, as if she had expected it.

The alley smelled of damp stone and rusted iron. Lyra moved cautiously, her hand brushing the shard at her belt as cloaked figures emerged from the darkness. She counted six. Their eyes, sharp and watchful, lingered on her like blades held in reserve.

The tallest among them stepped forward — narrow, wiry, with soot still under his nails. Rhel. His voice was rough, but calm.

Lyra nervously approached, hands up, as if offering peace.

“You’re the one who resists her voice,” he said, tilting his head as if testing her. “The shard shields you. I feel it in your presence, I have studied it…”

Lyra didn’t flinch.

“And you’re the ones I’ve heard whispers about,” Lyra said. “The ones who dare move in the silence.”

A murmur ed through the group. Whispers of distrust. But Rhel lifted his hand, silencing them.

“The messaging is stronger now, up on the surface. I was trained at the feet of Eclipse, and made stronger by it,” Lyra itted. “And I am on the path to destroy the evil that consumed my sister.”

“I know you are not of the violet. And we’ve studied the towers,” Rhel said quietly. “The amplifiers don’t just spread her song… they shape it. Every note precise, every frequency tuned. They are the bones of her control. Change them — even slightly — and the song falters. But we need more recruits and more materials…”

Lyra’s breath caught. Her heart hammered, saying “You mean…”

“We can’t destroy them outright,” Rhel cut in, his eyes flicking to the others. “Too strong. Too well-guarded. But the orb’s resonance is delicate. Twist it, bend it, change the song — she’ll be forced to hold the tune herself, as she uses the orb. And she can’t be everywhere at once.”

The others shifted uneasily. One spat on the ground.

“It’s madness. Even if it works, she’ll feel it instantly. She’ll come down on us harder than before,” the man replied.

Rhel’s lips tightened, saying, “Success isn’t guaranteed. But it’s the only path I see.”

Lyra looked around at their faces — weary, frightened, lit by the faint glow of a guttering lantern. They were not soldiers. They were ordinary souls with nothing left but desperation.

But desperation could become defiance.

Her hand tightened on the shard. She saw Mira’s face in her mind, still lost in Eclipse’s hymn.

She heard Veil’s silence where words should have been.

Opportunity. Not certainty. But a chance.

Lyra stepped closer to Rhel, her voice steady.

“With this shard, I have seen Eclipse’s journey. I have followed her path. I understand things,” Lyra began. “Eclipse relies too much on this orb for her power… if we weaken the signals, all at once, it will provide opportunity. I will be there to take this opportunity…”

Rhel looked at Lyra’s determination.

“Then we strike. Even if it costs us everything, even if it fails,” Rhel told his fellow dissenters. “I’ll take that chance. She must be weakened before she consumes us all.”

The fortress courtyard was heavy with silence. A ring of guards and onlookers encircled three dissenters — two men and a woman, bruised and shackled, their eyes still burning with defiance.

At the center stood Solarian. Once clad in gold and white, he now bore armor of scorched shadow veined with violet flame, his helm’s crest trailing sparks. The fire in his gauntlets hissed and cracked, unnaturally violet, as though alive.

The dissenters looked up at him with trembling awe — and grief.

“Solarian… you were the Hero of the Dawn! You carried the Light against the shadows. Don’t you ? You swore to protect us!” the dissenter of Eclipse shouted.

The crowd stirred uneasily. The woman dared to raise her voice, saying loudly “You fought for justice! For freedom! This—this is not you!”

For a moment, Solarian was still. Then a low laugh escaped beneath his helm, cruel and mirthless.

“Justice. Freedom. Words that kept me leashed. You speak them as if they still mean anything,” the dark suited former hero of light said coarsely.

He lifted his gauntleted hand, violet fire igniting in his palm. The flames hissed like serpents, casting twisted shadows across the prisoners’ faces.

“Look at me now. Do I look like your savior?” he snarled.

With a violent sweep, he flung the violet fire into the dirt before them. It splattered like molten glass, hissing, the heat searing their skin. The dissenters recoiled, but the chains held them in place.

Solarian advanced on the first man and forced his head down, grinding his face near the scorched earth where the violet fire had burned the dirt black.

“Kiss my boots, shine them with your tongue. Kiss the boots that walk on the ruin you begged me to save you from. Show them what your loyalty is worth,” he ordered.

The man resisted, trembling. Solarian pressed harder, violet flames curling around his gauntlet until the prisoner screamed as fire licked his skin. At last, sobbing, the man pressed his lips to the dark boots, covered with scorched earth.

The crowd looked on in horror as Solarian threw him aside like refuse.

Next, he seized the woman by the chin, forcing her to meet the cold glow of his eyes, tinged violet.

“This… this isn’t you…” she pleaded.

Solarian laughed again, a sound that chilled the blood. He let violet fire drip from his fingertips like liquid agony, searing her collar, branding her flesh.

“This is exactly me. The leash is gone,” Solarian said with glee. “Remove your clothing so all may see what price dissent is…”

Sobbing, the woman refused. Solarian then pushed her further.

“Do not anger the envoy of Eclipse, dissenter…” he bellowed, walking closer, his fire heating her the closer he got. “Remove your clothing..”

She again held firm. Solarian smiled.

“I ire your fire, futile it may be,” he laughed.

Solarian moved to the third dissenter, a young male, no older than 20.

“Remove your clothes, young dissenter,” Solarian instructed. “Remove your clothes or face my wrath… by the order of Eclipse…”

The young boy removed his clothes, fearing the change in the former hero.

“Good decision, boy,” Solarian instructed.

He tapped the tip of his sword to the boy’s bare chest, and pushed a tinge of violet into the boy, a power granted by Eclipse.

“There you are boy… just enough violet to obey without resistance…” Solarian laughed. “Now pleasure yourself until aroused… let the crowd see what becomes of dissenters…”

The boy’s right hand stroked himself to arousal, try as he might, he had no will to resist.

Solarian laughed.

“Now undress the female next to you, boy…” Solarian ordered.

WIth little hesitation, the boy, aroused, ripped the dress from the shoulders of the woman, ripping the garment off her piece by piece, until she was fully naked and sobbing.

“Excellent, boy,” Solarian added, “Perhaps your punishment will be lessened by your obedience.”

He then walked over to the now naked woman, putting the sword to her ample chest, which she was trying to cover with one hand.

“That won’t do, woman of dissent…” Solarian said, pushing a tinge of violet. “Put your hands at your side. When you arrive for your judgement, confess your sins… then ask to be put in service as a concubine for the greater good…”

The woman wept but the dissension was gone.

When their humiliation was complete, Solarian re-chained the three together by the neck, dragging them through the courtyard and into the fortress halls. Their cries echoed against the cold stone as the violet fire illuminated their shame.

At last, the great doors opened. The throne room awaited.

There sat Eclipse, her throne wreathed in shadow, the Orb pulsing above her like a dark heart.

At her side knelt Veil, submissive and silent, her head bowed in devotion at Eclipse’s feet.

“None are the one dissenter you seek, Mistress,” Veil said to Eclipse.

“Ah, that one weak empath, who’s sister wears my collar is of little concern to me, darling,” Eclipse replied, referring to Lyra Halden.

Solarian dragged the dissenters forward, forcing them to kneel so hard their foreheads struck the stone. He pressed his boot against their backs, keeping them bowed.

“Mistress,” he began. “They ed me as a hero… I reminded them what I am now. Their pride is ash. They are yours.”

Eclipse’s lips curved into a smile, her gaze lingering on the broken prisoners. Her hand drifted down, brushing across Veil’s bowed head almost idly, as if rewarding her loyal pet for simply bearing witness.

“Well done, my hound. Let them see the hero they worshiped reborn… as my enforcer,” Eclipse proclaimed.

The prisoners shuddered as Eclipse’s laughter filled the chamber, and Solarian held them in place, the violet fire still hissing at his fingertips.

The Justice Academy’s hall was heavy with silence. The torches burned faintly violet, shadows curling on the stone as though watching.

At the center knelt a young woman, wrists bound, her breath quick and shallow. Her name whispered among the cadets: Nyssa Maris. Once proud, once outspoken. Now trembling, caught for spreading doubts.

Kaia stood above her, radiant and terrible in her violet-shadowed armor. Her voice, low and steady, wove through the air like a spell.

“Nyssa Maris thought herself brave. She whispered rebellion. She believed her voice mattered. But here…” the firebrand began.

Her hand reached down, brushing along Nyssa’s jawline with unnerving gentleness.

“…her voice belongs to me. To Eclipse,” Kaia finished.

Nyssa shuddered at the touch.

“Commander, please— I only—” the kneeling cadet begged,

Kaia silenced her with a finger against her lips, the hall holding its breath.

“Shhh. Don’t beg. Breathe. In… and out. Listen. My words are stronger than yours. My words are truth,” the fiery cadet leader said.

Kaia’s hands rested lightly on Nyssa’s shoulders, shadowlight curling from her fingertips. The cadet gasped as the warmth slid into her, not painful but enveloping, like velvet ropes tightening around her mind.

Nyssa moaned.

“Eclipse is truth,” Kaia demanded. Say it, Nyssa.”

“Nnnoooo….” she grunted.

Kaia smiled.

“Your fortitude is irable, cadet,” Kaia said with a smile. “But desperate and futile.”

Kaia increased her fire, the shadowlight glowed brighter.

“Elise is truth, cadet…” Kaia said again. “Say it, cadet…”

Her voice quivered, but she obeyed.

“Eecclippsee iisss tttruthhh….”Nyssa replied softly, without conviction.

Kaia smiled faintly, stroking her cheek.

“Again. Stronger,” Kaia demanded.

“Eclipse is the truth,” Nyssa replied, firm, but still trembling.

Her resistance faltered, the words searing themselves deeper with every repetition. Kaia leaned close, her lips brushing Nyssa’s ear as she whispered:

“Good girl. The fight is fading, isn’t it? No fear. No doubt. Only belonging,” Kaia said, low and intimate.

Nyssa whimpered softly, nodding as her eyes glazed with surrender in violet.

Kaia lifted a velvet box, opening it to reveal a violet collar, Eclipse’s sigil glowing faintly at its center. She raised it high so all cadets could see.

“This is the mark of a dissenter reborn. A symbol not of shame… but of choice,” Kaia pontificated. “To wear it is to declare Eclipse owns your heart — and you welcome it.”

She lowered it before Nyssa, her tone coaxing, velvet and steel entwined.

“You want this, Nyssa Maris. You need it. Take it, and the shadows will cradle you forever,” Kaia purred.

Nyssa’s hands trembled as she reached forward. For one aching heartbeat she hesitated, lips parted, eyes flicking as though searching for escape — but Kaia’s glowing gaze held her fast.

Slowly, reverently, Nyssa fastened the collar around her own neck.

Gasps whispered through the assembly.

Kaia knelt, their faces level, her touch sliding through Nyssa’s hair with practiced intimacy.

“Now… show them what obedience looks like,” Kaia coaxed, low and commanding.

Nyssa’s breath caught. Slowly, hesitantly, she leaned in — her lips brushing Kaia’s at first, then pressing more firmly, reverently, sealing her surrender. The kiss lingered, not lustful but ritualistic — a final offering of will to the woman who had broken her.

When Kaia drew back, Nyssa remained kneeling, violet collar gleaming, lips parted as though awaiting permission to breathe again.

Kaia rose, her eyes blazing as she addressed the assembly.

“You have seen Nyssa Maris choose. Her will is no longer her own — it is Eclipse’s now,” Kaia said, resonant and merciless. “And if you falter… if you whisper doubt… I will carve that same obedience into you.”

The cadets stood rigid, silent, eyes fixed on Nyssa — collared, kneeling, her devotion plain.

Kaia’s voice rang like iron, final and inescapable- “You do not serve me. You serve Eclipse. And I will make certain you never forget it.”

Kaia attached a leash and a collar to Nyssa, and brought her back to her apartment high atop the campus.

The throne chamber was suffocating, its stone walls slick with shadow. Two prisoners knelt in chains — a man and woman, their hands bound, their heads bowed.

On the obsidian throne, Eclipse reclined, the Orb pulsing faintly above her like a dark star. She watched them with quiet amusement. At her feet stood Veil, calm and serene, the folds of her silks whispering as she moved.

“One of you whispered first. One of you breathed rebellion into the other. Which was it, Veil?”

Veil circled the pair, her eyes tilting like a predator’s gaze. She stopped before the woman, fingers brushing the air near her cheek, her empathy sensing.

“It was her. She planted the seed,” Veil stated coldly.

The man jerked against his chains, his voice raw.

“No! It wasn’t her, it was me! Take me—”

Eclipse silenced him with a flick of her hand. A shadow gag tightened around his mouth, muffling his pleas. She smiled faintly.

“Then let him watch, my Veil,” Eclipse cooed.

“For your pleasure, Mistress,” Veil said, bowing.

Veil crouched before the woman, her voice a silk-thread whisper, saying, “Your words betrayed her. My love will not tolerate betrayal.”

She pressed her lips to the woman’s forehead in a grotesque imitation of a blessing. Then her hands surged with shadow.

The woman screamed as tendrils lanced into her flesh, rewriting bone and sinew, dragging the light from her eyes. Her cries echoed, muffled and distorted as though her very voice was being torn apart. The man thrashed helplessly against his chains, his muffled sobs filling the chamber.

At last, the shadows withdrew.

The woman knelt in silence, trembling. Her skin was pale, her eyes hollowed, but she still lived — fractured, emptied, reshaped by Veil’s hand.

Veil stepped back, bowing toward the throne.

“Her defiance has been unmade, my Mistress,” Veil stated calmly.

Eclipse leaned forward, the faintest smile curling her lips at Veil’s cruel handiwork. .

“Show me, little whisperer. Whom do you serve now?” Eclipse said commandingly.

The woman raised her head slowly. Her lips trembled, her eyes wet with tears — and yet, when she spoke, her voice was clear, almost worshipful.

“I serve you, Eclipse. Only you. I… I was wrong to doubt. You are my queen, my Mistress,” the woman said clearly.

The man gave a muffled howl of grief, straining so hard against his bonds that the chains cut into his flesh. His eyes were wide with disbelief as the woman he loved, the one who had whispered doubts into his ear, now bent her will to Eclipse before his very eyes.

Eclipse’s laughter rang through the chamber, low and rich with satisfaction.

“Yes. Even betrayal may be reforged into devotion. What is love, if not weakness waiting to be reshaped?” Veil asked rhetorically.

Veil bowed her head, her voice tender with pride.

“She is yours now, forever, Mistress. Her love remade,” Veil said adoringly. “Crawl to your Mistress, woman.”

Veil smiled as the woman crawled to the feet of Madame Eclipse.

“Kiss the boots of the Mistress you serve,” Veil said, leaning close to her ear.

The woman adoringly kissed the black and violet boots.

Veil turned with a predatory look at the dissenting man.

“You should never whisper in the shadows,” Veil said, stroking his hair as he trembled. “The shadows are always listening.”

The man collapsed, his muffled screams shaking the chamber as he realized the depth of his loss — not only of her body, but of her soul, willingly given to the shadow.

In New Lysoria, Shadow Reigned.