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We passed several guards as we journeyed to my cell.
They didn’t spare us more than a cursory glance.
To them, I was just another prisoner, and she, my newly claimed Prize.
It’s funny how desensitized they’ve become to the little intimacies and tragedies that unfold within these walls daily.
The tang of the prison environment, with its traces of recycled air and cleaning agents, was a constant reminder of where we were.
It was almost impossible to forget, but with her by my side, there was a slight alleviation to the mundane, a spark of color in a sea of grays.
My cell door slid open with a hiss, revealing the modest space I called home.
I motioned for the female human to enter, and she hesitated for a split second before stepping inside.
The room was relatively barren, save for a bed and a desk with a couple of personal items.
As the door closed behind us, the sense of confinement was immediate.
It also afforded us the privacy I so desperately craved.
The low hum from the outside world was now muffled, and all that remained was the gentle rhythm of our breaths.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” I tried to lighten the mood with a small smile, tasting the nervousness on my tongue.
She looked around, taking in the details, her fingers brushing against the rough surface of the walls.
I could sense the unease rolling off her in waves.
The slight tremor in her hands.
I wanted to ease her worries, make her feel safe.
“I know this isn’t the most comfortable place,” I began, “but we both have access to a much more… flexible place. The important thing is I wanted to talk to you, away from prying eyes and ears.”
She nodded, her blue eyes meeting mine. “I figured as much. We… we have a lot to discuss, don’t we?”
I approached her slowly, aware of the crackling energy between us.
The soft glow from the overhead lights illuminated her features, casting shadows that danced with her every movement.
“Yes,” I whispered, my fingers brushing against hers, sending electric jolts up my arm.
The sensations were overwhelming — her touch, the intoxicating scent of her, the soft sounds of our breathing.
She was real.
Really real.
And now just a figment of my imagination.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Grace,” she said. “My name is Grace.”
It was the perfect name for her.
I told her my name and it was met with a blank stare.
