Fae apoc, forced imprisonment, dungeon.
The apocalypse had its advantages.
Oh, the first ten years had been a mess, and the next ten had been pretty dire, but Asymptote had some good Words and some really good luck, and she’d been able to hold tight through the worst of it.
And then she’d lucked – again, she had great luck – on this lovely house that was nearly a castle, all empty, sitting up on the hill. And its basement had been perfect.
After that, it was just a matter of plucking the right people as they happened by, like a trap-door spider, but so much more elegant. Asy headed down to the basement, where the chains were once again rattling.
“Oh, come now.” There were three occupants of her dungeon right now. The first had only been there a day, the second, a week. But the third…
“I think you’re about ripe, don’t you?” She stood just outside the reach of his chains. He was a handsome one, or he would be again when she got him cleaned up. He had demon horns and a tail, and had possessed washboard abs a month ago.
Right now, he was on his knees, because he had learned the hard way that he was only fed while kneeling. His hair had grown shaggy. But his back was unbowed.
“I know I stink,” he told her. His voice was raw; he’d been shouting again while she was out. “But you’re the rotten one.”
“Oh, dear. A day, a week, a month… I suppose I’ll have to leave you in here a year.”
He said nothing, didn’t look at her, didn’t move. It wasn’t until Asy was on the stairs heading away from him that he let out the softest choked whimper.
Yep. She had him. The fun would begin in another week.
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