When Evangeline came to her senses, she found herself in a dark and cramped place.
Her head was throbbing and her mouth felt dry and sticky. She tried to move, but her limbs were bound tightly with rope.
The smell of earth and mildew filled her nostrils, making her stomach churn.
Evangeline's eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom, and she realized she was in a basement of some kind.
The walls were made of damp, unfinished concrete, and there was a single dim lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows around the room.
Evangeline's heart raced as she heard the heavy footsteps growing louder and closer. She tried to scream, but the gag in her mouth muffled any sound she could make.
The steps reverberated through the small basement, the rhythm of them pounding in her ears like a drum. She could feel the vibrations through the cold, hard floor beneath her, and her panic grew with each echoing thud.
Then, the man appeared. He was tall, easily a head and a half above her, with broad shoulders that seemed to fill the doorframe. His hair was as dark as the shadows he emerged from, and his eyes were piercing, almost as if they could see through her soul.
But it was his expression that truly terrified her. It was blank, utterly devoid of any emotion. His face was a mask, a canvas painted with indifference. His eyes didn't flicker with anger or lust; they were cold and empty, like the eyes of a statue.
The man's attire was impeccable, a stark contrast to the grim surroundings. He wore an expensive, tailored suit, the fabric whispering softly as he moved. His shoes were polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the dull light that barely penetrated the darkness of the basement.
Evangeline's eyes widened with terror as he approached her, his movements deliberate and precise. She could feel his presence, a palpable force that filled the room, suffocating her with dread.
He stared at her, his gaze unwavering and unblinking, as if he was examining a piece of art. His eyes, cold and calculating, sent shivers down her spine.
Tears began to stream down Evangeline's face, wetting the gag and trickling down her neck, pooling at the collar of her dress.
He bent down, his face mere inches from hers, and whispered, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in her very bones. "You're mine now."
The words were spoken in a cold, dominating tone that sent a chill down Evangeline's spine. His voice was smooth, like fine velvet wrapped around shards of ice, and it held a promise of possession and control that sent waves of terror crashing over her.
The man took his time untying her gag, his movements slow and deliberate, enjoying the fear that danced in her eyes.
"Please, let me go," Evangeline croaked out, her voice hoarse from the struggle and the dryness of her mouth.
The man's face went dark, a storm cloud of anger and warning brewing in his eyes. He leaned in closer, his breath hot on her face, and spoke in a calm but menacing tone, "You will never say those words to me again."
Her voice trembled as she tried to apologize, but the words caught in her throat, trapped by the fear that had taken root there.
The man straightened up, his gaze never leaving hers, and took a step back, allowing her to breathe properly for the first time since she'd been brought here.
Without a word, he turned and strode over to a metal drawer set into the far wall of the basement, his footsteps echoing in the silence like the tick of a clock counting down to her doom.
Evangeline's heart hammered in her chest as she watched him, her eyes wide with horror. Her breath came in short, panicked gasps that sounded like the desperate panting of a trapped animal.
The man reached into the drawer, and the clinking of metal sent a fresh wave of dread crashing over her.
The sound of the knife being drawn from its sheath was like the crack of a whip in the stillness of the basement.
Evangeline's eyes went wide with fear as the cold steel glinted under the flickering light of the single bulb.
The man held the knife with a confidence that spoke of familiarity, of a tool used not for cutting bread or whittling wood, but for something far more sinister.
He approached her again, the blade glinting in the dim light, and for a moment, Evangeline thought her end had come.
Instead, he traced the sharp point of the knife along her cheekbone, the cold steel sending a shiver of terror down her spine. She flinched, but his hand was steady, the blade not cutting through the skin, just a whisper away from slicing it open.
He followed the line of her jaw, down her neck, and paused at her collarbone, his eyes never leaving hers. Then he traced it down to her cleavage, the tip of the blade resting just above the fabric of her dress.
Evangeline's breathing grew more ragged, and she felt a cold sweat break out across her forehead. She could see the man's reflection in the knife, a twisted smile playing on his lips as he enjoyed her fear.
With a swift, violent motion, he ripped the dress from her, the fabric giving way with a tear that sounded like a scream in the silence. The dress fell away in tatters, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.
"Please," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Please don't do this."
The words hung in the air, a desperate prayer to any power that might be listening.
He watched her, his cold, emotionless eyes taking in the desperation and fear in her gaze. Then, without a flicker of emotion, he placed the tip of the knife onto her soft, plum-colored lips.
"Shh," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the very air around her. "I want to see those beautiful eyes of yours, filled with fear."
Evangeline felt the knife press slightly harder against her skin, a silent promise of pain if she did not obey. She took a shaky breath and forced herself to look up at him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.
With a flick of his wrist, the man sliced the blade along the delicate skin of her left breast, and a crimson line blossomed in its wake. A scream tore from her throat, a raw, primal sound that seemed to resonate in the very walls of the basement.
Evangeline's eyes squeezed shut, her body trembling violently as she bit down on her lip to stifle the agony. The scent of coppery blood mingled with the damp earth.
Her thoughts were a chaotic jumble of fear, anger, and despair. How had it come to this? How had her quiet life in the village led her to this terrible fate?
Evangeline pleaded with every ounce of her being, her voice strained and desperate. "Why are you doing this to me?" she sobbed, her eyes never leaving the cold, unyielding gaze of her captor.
He stepped closer, the tip of the knife trailing a path down her trembling body. "Because you are the key," he whispered, his voice a dark caress. "The key to everything I desire."
The man reached out and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back to expose her neck. His breath was hot and minty, and she could feel his excitement as he leaned in.
With a sadistic twist of his wrist, he dragged the blade of the knife across her neck, the pressure increasing until it broke the skin. A warm trickle of blood began to flow, and Evangeline's eyes went wide with shock and pain.
The man watched the crimson beads form on her skin with a detached curiosity, his own eyes gleaming with a strange excitement. The smell of blood filled the room, mixing with the damp earth and the metallic scent of fear.
He leaned in closer, his face a twisted mask of pleasure as he whispered, "You're so beautiful when you're afraid."
And with that, he did something that made Evangeline's stomach lurch with disgust. He licked the blood from the fresh cut on her neck, his tongue tracing the path the knife had made.
Her eyes watered from the pain, and she tasted the bitter metallic tang of her own fear as he forced her mouth open and crushed his lips against hers.
The kiss was hard and bruising, a stark contrast to the gentle, tentative kisses she had imagined to kiss her husband one day she gets married. She felt vulnerable for not being able to do anything to protect her honour.
Her eyes squeezed shut tightly.
The man's grip on her hair loosened, and she felt his warm breath leave her neck. He stood up, the knife still in his hand, his gaze still fixed on hers. The sudden absence of his touch was almost a relief, but the fear remained.
With a flick of his wrist, he threw the knife on the floor, the clatter echoing through the basement. It skidded across the cold concrete, coming to rest a few feet from her.
The sound of it landing was the last thing Evangeline expected, and she watched it with wide, unblinking eyes, as if it might leap up and attack her again.
He turned to leave, the shadows swallowing him up until he was nothing more than a looming figure at the top of the stairs, the light from the door above casting a stark silhouette.
"Please," Evangeline choked out, her voice hoarse and broken. "Please don't leave me here. Let me go home."
The man paused, his hand on the doorknob, and she watched in desperation as his expression remained unreadable. His eyes, those cold, emotionless eyes, bore into her, and she felt as if he was seeing every last bit of her soul.
For a moment, she dared to hope. Maybe, just maybe, he had heard her plea, had seen the innocence in her eyes and felt a glimmer of pity.
But he left. The heavy door slammed shut, the sound reverberating through the basement like a gunshot, leaving Evangeline alone in the dark.
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