The Weight of Silk and Shadows

He found me amidst the ruins of old cities, a collector of broken things. He didn't see the steel beneath my skin, only the fragile curve of it.
I used to think vulnerability was weakness, an invitation for predators like him to circle. But his gaze lingered on my scars as if they were constellations, mapping out galaxies he understood.
Each touch was a calculated risk, a dance with shadows where surrender meant annihilation. Yet, in the hollows of his embrace, I found a morbid comfort, a fleeting illusion that perhaps—just perhaps—I could be salvaged. The weight of silk against my skin felt like shackles, but they were *his* shackles, and for someone who craved control as much as I did… it was an exquisite torment.

Editor: Black Swan