Content Warning:
This arc contains depictions of toxic relationships, emotional abuse, manipulation, cycles of abuse, drugging (love potions/ spells), physical torment, and psychological trauma, implied sexual content, Please proceed with caution if these themes may be triggering for you. Your well-being comes first.
The evening of the following day was heavy with a sense of unease that Anagan couldn't quite shake. He moved through his chambers with a lethargy that contrasted sharply with the lightness he had felt just a day prior. The memory of last night lingered like a shadow, dark and pervasive, filling him with a deep sense of discomfort. He felt… dirty. Used, even.
As he stood before his wardrobe, preparing to dress for the day, his eyes caught something unusual out of the corner of his vision. There, leaning against the wall, was a mirror he hadn't noticed before. It was beautiful, framed in intricate silver that was adorned with moss and roses, the greenery intertwined with delicate blooms. The flowers were fresh, their petals soft and fragrant, and a variety of fruits he remembered from Lynphea were arranged artfully at the on the table.
Anagan's breath caught in his throat as he approached the mirror, his hand trembling slightly as he reached out to touch the cool, smooth surface. It was exquisite, like something out of a dream, and for a moment, the beauty of it all distracted him from the unease that had been gnawing at him since the night before.
Propped against the mirror was a small, folded note. Anagan hesitated before picking it up, his heart pounding in his chest. The handwriting was unmistakably Ogron's, the strokes bold and confident, yet there was a softness to the words as if they had been penned with great care.
He unfolded the note, his eyes scanning the words:
My Dearest Anagan,
I've been thinking a lot about what you mean to me, about how much you've given of yourself to support me, to care for me. You've become more than just a lover to me—you're my anchor, my light in the darkness. I don't know where I would be without you, and I don't want to imagine a life without you in it.
This mirror is a reflection of how I see you—beautiful, pure, surrounded by the things that bring you joy. I wanted you to have something that reminds you of how much I appreciate everything you do, and how much you mean to me.
I love you, more than words can express.
Yours, Ogron
Anagan felt a tightness in his chest as he read the words. The sincerity in the note was palpable, and for a moment, the doubt that had clouded his mind began to lift. Maybe he had been overreacting. Perhaps the unease he had felt was just a result of his own insecurities, his own fears of the past creeping back to haunt him.
He stared at the mirror, at the moss and the roses, at the fruits that reminded him of the beauty of their connection, and felt a small flicker of warmth in his heart. Ogron had gone to great lengths to create something so personal, so meaningful. It had to mean something, didn't it?
But as he stood there, a lingering doubt remained, buried deep within. The memory of last night, of the way Ogron had held him, possessive and cold, was still fresh in his mind. The intimacy they had shared felt tainted, wrong somehow, as if the balance between them had shifted in a way that left Anagan feeling powerless and exposed.
He looked at his reflection in the mirror, the beautiful frame surrounding him like a portrait, and wondered if he was being foolish. Maybe he was overthinking things, letting his emotions get the better of him. But then why did he still feel so unsettled?
Anagan sighed, folding the note carefully and setting it on the table beside the mirror. He couldn't deny that Ogron's gesture was touching, that it spoke of a deep affection. But it didn't erase the feelings that had surfaced within him, the growing fear that something was very, very wrong.
As he dressed for the day, Anagan tried to push those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the beauty of the gift, the tenderness in Ogron's words. Maybe everything would be alright. Maybe he just needed to give it time. But as he left his chambers, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered that the unease he felt was not something that could be so easily ignored.
Throughout the day, Anagan attempted to press on with a sense of normalcy, throwing himself into his tasks and duties with a determined focus. Yet, as the hours wore on, his mind repeatedly drifted back to the chain around his neck—a gift from Ogron that he had momentarily forgotten in the whirlwind of emotions. Now, its weight felt uncomfortably heavy, like an anchor pulling him down into a sea of doubt. The chain, once a symbol of affection, now seemed to constrict around his throat, its presence a constant reminder of the complex power dynamics that had shifted in their relationship. Every movement he made, every breath he took, was met with an oppressive sense of suffocation, as if the very thing meant to signify Ogron's love was now a shackle of his own making.
As Anagan entered the washroom in the evening, he sent the servant away with a curt nod. He needed solitude, a moment where no one else's touch would intrude upon his own. The room was filled with the steam from the hot water, its comforting warmth at odds with the turmoil brewing inside him. He sank into the tub, attempting to wash away the lingering sense of discomfort that clung to his skin.
The chain around his neck had become an unbearable weight, and he decided he needed to remove it. His fingers fumbled with the clasp, but despite his efforts, it wouldn't budge. Frustration bubbled up within him, mingling with the mounting guilt and confusion that seemed to crowd his thoughts.
As he wrestled with the chain, the door to the washroom creaked open. Ogron stood in the doorway, his eyes narrowing at the sight before him. The king's expression shifted from surprise to something darker, more menacing.
"What are you doing, Ana?" Ogron's voice was soft, but there was an edge to it that sent a shiver down Anagan's spine. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "Is there something wrong with the chain I gave you?"
Anagan's heart pounded in his chest as he looked up at Ogron, his hands still clutched around the stubborn chain. "I just… I thought I might take it off for a moment. It feels—"
"You're not supposed to question my gifts. I thought you understood how much it means to me—to us. To even think of removing it, Ana…" He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper filled with icy disdain. "Is this how you show your appreciation? By trying to rid yourself of a token of my love? You know how much I've done for you, and this is how you repay me?"
Anagan flinched at the intensity in Ogron's voice, the words striking deep. The king's gaze was cold, his expression darkened. "I didn't mean to—" Anagan started, but Ogron cut him off, his voice rising.
"You didn't mean to? Well you did. Do you think I'm just a fool to be trifled with? I gave you that chain to show my commitment, and you're trying to take it off as if it were nothing. How can you say you love me and yet be so thoughtless?"
The words were a heavy blow, each one striking at Anagan's heart. He could feel the warmth of the bath turning into a suffocating heat as he sat there, feeling increasingly trapped. Ogron's gaze, sharp and unwavering, made Anagan feel like he was drowning in guilt and self-reproach.
"I—I'm sorry," Anagan said, his voice trembling. "I didn't realize…"
The King's face softened as tears began to well in the other man's eyes, Anagan, overwhelmed, put his hands to his face, not seeing the redhead approach him. He jumped slightly at the touch.
Ogron placed a hand on Anagan's shoulder, his touch both soothing and firm. "...You're tired, I can see that. You don't need to push yourself. Let me help you wash."
Before Anagan could respond, Ogron's fingers deftly moved to the chain, his touch both possessive and gentle. "You must know how much this chain means to me," Ogron said softly, his voice laced with a subtle authority. "It's a testament to our connection. To want it removed, it's as if you're questioning everything we've built."
Anagan tried to pull away, but Ogron's grip was unyielding. "I just need a break," he murmured, his voice weak with frustration.
"Nonsense," Ogron insisted, his tone shifting to one of firm reprimand. "You've been so stressed lately, and now you want to throw away a symbol of our bond? Do you really think that would be wise? It's not just a piece of jewelry—it's a reminder of what we mean to each other."
As Ogron began to wash Anagan's back, his movements were slow and deliberate, his hands brushing over Anagan's skin with an unsettling familiarity. "You're making a mistake, Ana~," he said softly, his voice carrying an edge of disappointment. "This chain is a part of our relationship. To want it off is to say that you no longer value what we have. It's hurtful, and it makes me wonder if you truly understand the significance of what we share."
Anagan stiffened, the guilt seeping into his consciousness. The more Ogron spoke, the more Anagan felt a growing sense of shame. "I never meant to hurt you," he said quietly, his eyes downcast.
"Of course not," Ogron said, his voice dripping with faux sympathy. "But you must understand how much this affects me. It's not just about the chain—it's about how you see our bond. To question it, to want it removed, it feels like a betrayal."
Anagan remained still, the weight of Ogron's words pressing heavily on him. The king's touch was both intimate and commanding, a constant reminder of the power he wielded. As Ogron's hands continued their careful, controlled movements, Anagan felt a sense of helplessness, the emotional manipulation intertwining with the physical control.
Ogron's voice was a low murmur as he continued to wash Anagan, his touch never leaving a doubt that he held the power in their relationship. "Remember, Ana," he said softly, "You're mine, and you must never forget that. Even when you're tired, even when you doubt, this chain is a part of what keeps us together."
Anagan's heart ached as he endured the king's hurtful words, feeling the oppressive weight of Ogron's dominance and the guilt that came with questioning their bond. The warm water seemed to turn cold, and the king's touch, though gentle, was a reminder of the control he held over Anagan's life and heart.
——-
Anagan sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, the heavy weight of the chain around his neck pressing down on him. He could feel Ogron's gaze on him, a silent command that made his skin prickle. The king's insistence on bathing and dressing him had been more than uncomfortable—it had been humiliating. But what made it worse was Ogron's casual dismissal of his discomfort, as if Anagan's feelings were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
"I… I was thinking," Anagan began, his voice barely above a whisper, "that maybe I could sleep in my own bed tonight."
Ogron paused, his hand hovering above the clasps of Anagan's shirt. His eyes darkened, but his voice remained unnervingly gentle. "Why would you want to do that, darling? We've been so close lately. I've grown quite fond of having you beside me."
Anagan swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady. "It's not that I don't appreciate it, Ogron. I just… I need some space."
Ogron's smile was thin, almost strained, but he didn't immediately respond. Instead, he continued to fasten the buttons of Anagan's shirt, his touch deceptively tender. "You're so cute when you're shy," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind Anagan's ear.
The words were meant to be soothing, but they only made Anagan feel more trapped. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he couldn't suppress the surge of frustration that bubbled up inside him. "I'm not shy," he said, a little more firmly. "I'm trying to tell you how I feel."
"And I'm trying to show you how much I care," Ogron replied smoothly, his hands lingering on Anagan's shoulders. "Why would you want to pull away from that?"
Anagan felt a tremor of doubt flicker in his chest, but he pushed it aside. "Because I'm not a pet," he said, his voice shaking despite his best efforts. "I'm not something you can dress up and keep by your side whenever you please."
Ogron's eyes flashed, a dangerous glint sparking to life behind his calm exterior. "Oh? Is that what you think?" His tone was soft, but there was an edge to it that made Anagan's heart skip a beat.
"I'm just saying I—I want to feel like myself," Anagan replied, his words coming out in a rush. "Not like… like I'm just here to please you."
Ogron's grip on Anagan's shoulders tightened, just for a moment, before he let out a low, almost pained sigh. "Oh, Ana," he murmured, shaking his head slowly. "You wound me. Everything I do, I do out of love. Can't you see that?"
Anagan opened his mouth to protest, but the words died on his lips as Ogron's hand moved to the chain around his neck, his fingers tracing the cold metal with a possessive tenderness. "This chain… it's a symbol of my devotion to you. And you wanted to take it off earlier, hm?" There was a hint of accusation in his voice now that made Anagan's stomach twist.
"It's not that I don't appreciate it," Anagan stammered, his resolve faltering under Ogron's intense gaze. "I just… sometimes it feels like too much."
"Too much?" Ogron echoed, his voice dangerously soft. "Is my love too much for you, Ana? Is that what you're saying?"
Anagan shook his head quickly, panic rising in his chest. "No, that's not what I mean. I just… I want to feel like I have a choice."
"A choice?" Ogron's smile was cold, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Darling, you do have a choice. You're here with me because you want to be, aren't you?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then there's nothing more to discuss," Ogron interrupted, his tone final. "You're mine, Ana, and I take care of what's mine. Now, let's not speak of this again."
Anagan felt his heart sink as Ogron's words settled over him like a heavy shroud. The king's hand was still on the chain, a silent reminder of the control he held over him. And though every fiber of his being screamed for him to resist, to push back, he found himself nodding meekly, his voice a defeated whisper. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
Ogron's smile returned, warm and reassuring, but Anagan could see the glint of triumph in his eyes. "That's my good boy," he cooed, leaning in to press a kiss to Anagan's forehead. "Now, let's get you to bed. You'll feel better after a good night's sleep."
As Ogron led him towards the bed, Anagan's heart ached with a mixture of shame and resignation. He knew he had lost this battle, but deep down, a small part of him couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he was the one who was overreacting. After all, Ogron was doing all of this out of love… wasn't he?
