Those who served the Seven Houses of Midnight were never to let themselves become entangled by emotional impediments. It was a sentiment drilled into each and every recruit from a young age, and Evelyn Silverthorn had heard it often in her century’s service to the guild. An assassin was supposed to remain professional, detached, unbound by qualms or sentiment. Even when they did become intimate with someone else, it was all supposed to be physical, in the service of the mission, for nothing could their resolve or unflinching devotion to the Seven Houses. And like so many of their doctrines, it was something the ashen-haired elf had done her best to forget since the night she broke her oath and fled the guild to the accompaniment of flashing blades and the screams of the dying.

Still, given her current situation, perhaps her mentors in all their harshness might have had the right idea… “Mmmpggghhh!” the elven beauty cried out, the thick vines drawn tight between her lips reducing her every plea and statement of defiance inaudible to any outside of the dank root cellar that served as her prison. The two vine-covered pillars on either side of her were the source of her restraints, and she stood spread-eagled between the two, vines seizing her by the ankles to pull her legs apart, tugging at her wrists to leave her arms and shoulders burning from the strain, each as unyielding as iron chains. Others encircled her slim waist, ready to squeeze the life from her should her struggles prove too great. And still more grew to leave her further entangled, slithering like serpents along coltish legs contained in thigh-high leather boots, caressing her exposed midriff, dancing across her tight-fitting leather bodice. One particular length crept towards her armoured skirt, and the elven assassin shuddered as she felt it slide along her bare thighs. “Mmmpgghh! MMMPPPPGGGHHHH!”

And then a leather-gloved hand added its touch to the vines, titling Evelyn’s chin up so she stared into a woman’s face, beautiful and cruel in equal measure. “You shouldn’t have defied me, Evelyn,” Aida proclaimed, red lips curled downwards in a sneer as she examined her former lover. The witch was as lovely as the day Evelyn first met her, her black leather gown highlighting her many feminine charms, rich red hair tumbling down to her waist in a crimson waterfall, green eyes sharp and clever and so very beautiful. She’d fallen prey to that beauty for a time, blind to Aida’s far less noble attributes, and after six months of near-constant tantrums and controlling behaviour, she’d announced their break-up by leaving the witch bound and gagged inside her own tower… and it was clear Aida had never forgotten. “I told you before that you belong to me now.” Her hands shifted, seizing the assassin’s pert buttocks beneath the skirt and drawing a gagged protest. “Our destinies are entangled, and I have no intention of letting you go.”

“Mmmpgghh, mmmpppggghhh!” Evelyn screamed in refusal, desire and revulsion warring within her. Aida snapped her fingers, and the elf felt her breath catch in her throat as a new set of vines snaked about her neck, closing tight like a collar… or a noose. “MMMPPPPGGGHHH!”

“Still defiant,” whispered Aida, fresh hate blossoming in her eyes. “Do not worry, pet. We’ll have all the time in the world to change that.” She leaned in close, warm breath tickling the elf’s right ear. “And when I’m finished with you, Evelyn, you’ll never even think of defying me again.”

Evelyn’s pleas, rendered unintelligible, pathetic noise by the vines that gagged her, went unremarked as Aida strode back up the cellar’s stairs. Yes, it had been a mistake to become entangled with the witch, but she never thought it would wind up being so literal…