Chapter 2: The Change

Valérien had always been known for his playful spirit. In the halls of his father's grand manor, he was the light that cut through the somber atmosphere, a rare source of joy in a world governed by strict rules and unyielding expectations.

But that Valérien was gone, buried beneath the weight of duty and the cold hand of his father. The change had been slow at first, barely noticeable. A stern word here, a scolding there, as his father sought to mold him into a worthy heir.

He didn't understand it himself, this darkness that had begun to creep into his soul. He could still laugh, still smile, but there was a growing bitterness beneath it all, a resentment that festered like a wound.

It was as though he had been taught to be cruel, to hide his softer nature behind a mask of indifference.

When he looked at her, he felt a strange, uncomfortable mix of emotions-pity, disdain, and a hunger for control that he didn't fully understand. It was as if he saw her weakness and wanted to crush it, to assert his power over her in a way that was both thrilling and repulsive.

He had never been like this before, never felt the need to dominate, to bend someone to his will.

He had told her to bend, to submit to him, and when she had, trembling and terrified, he had felt a surge of power unlike anything he had ever known. It was intoxicating, this control he had over her, and he had wielded it like a weapon, cutting through her innocence with the same cold precision his father had used to cut through his own.

But once it was over, when the heat of the moment had passed, he had felt... empty.

There was no satisfaction, no sense of victory. Only a hollow ache in his chest, as if something vital had been taken from him, leaving a gaping void in its place.

He left her in the bed, tears staining her cheeks.

Valérien stood at the window, staring out at the same fields that had once been his playground, now shadowed by the night. The boy he had been, the one who had laughed and played, felt like a distant memory, a ghost that haunted the edges of his mind.

With a deep breath, he turned away from the window, forcing himself to focus on the tasks that lay ahead. There was no room for regret, no time for self-pity. He had a role to play, a duty to fulfill. And if that meant becoming someone else, someone harder, darker, then so be it.

As he prepared for bed, his wife lay curled up, crying softly into her pillow. He turned away in bed, unwilling to face her, yet the image of his wife's tear-streaked face lingered in his mind, a quiet reminder of the innocence he had lost-and the part of himself he feared he would never find again.