LitBound

17th of May, 201st of NDE. Pesandriith Island, Tyrnalan Theocracy. One of the myriad tales told about Myelia involved the first child she gave birth to from the union with Bhahamuth. A boy whose name were lost to the annals of history, but not his actions which secured the future, the present all the folk could enjoy. According to the tale, said boy was a natural born leader who born with the divine beauty and magical prowess of his mother, the strength and charisma of his father. He could lift mountains with a thought, crumble adramantyrium just by curling his fist, and his voice carried the depth of natural born leaders which formed words creating legions of loyal followers who followed him into the last battle of the First Crusade. Where his fate was sealed, and where Myelia shed the first of her tears upon the sacrifice of her dearest child. With his sacrifice, the Wound that connected our world to the hellish Stygian Realms closed and remained as is for several eons.

Tina's thoughts had long ago stopped contemplating escape. She had adapted. She had evolved. Master Mark had taken complete possession of her, as was his right to do as her owner and her guardian. Tina loved seeing the Master arrive in her safe little room. Master Mark always paid so much attention to her and had such exciting games for her to play. Tina laid curled up on her pile of rags in the corner wishing Master Mark were there and wondering how long it had been since he left. Tina's stomach felt more empty than usual. The degree of emptiness was how Tina made estimates of times between the Master's visits. Tina was wearing her handcuffs, leg irons and, of course, Master's collar. Tina always wore those items and nothing else. Nothing else to come between her and Master. The peaceful stillness of her little quiet world was pierced by a loud noise. It was followed by a high pitched equally loud noise. Tina was frightened by the noises, but she knew what to do. Tina