“What happens to you?” Elara whispered.
Elara should have run. Any sensible person would have. But she had been chosen, shaped, prepared for this moment across years of strange requests and midnight trials. Missax had not been training a servant. She had been crafting a vessel. missax - do this for me
The rain hammered louder. Elara looked at the ring, then at the woman who had commanded and confided in her in equal measure. “What happens to you
Missax slid the ring onto Elara’s finger. It felt warm—impossibly warm—and then it bit down, not painfully, but possessively, as if the ring had teeth and had just taken its first taste. But she had been chosen, shaped, prepared for
Elara’s heart stumbled. “What do you need?”
“Do this for me,” Missax repeated, taking Elara’s hand. Her skin was indeed cold—too cold. “Wear the ring. Speak the words I will teach you. And become the new Missax.”