The morning air in the East Wing was thick with the scent of lavender and the clink of fine china. On the small, ivory table in the center of the suite sat a tray of heavy cream, honeyed porridge, and thick slices of buttered bread.
Dafne sat in her chair, her body stiff in a pale blue velvet frock, her eyes fixed on the door. Jordan held a silver spoon to her lips, but Dafne's jaw remained locked.
"Eat, little bird," Jordan whispered, her voice tightening with a nervous edge. "Mr. Raphael is coming. You know what happens when the tray goes back full."
"I can't," Dafne whispered, her voice a dry rasp. "They're still in the basement. I won't eat while they're in the dark."
The door didn't just open; it slammed against the wall. Raphael stepped in, his presence a sudden, freezing draft. He looked at the full bowl, then at the defiant, trembling girl. His face didn't twist in rage—it went terrifyingly still, his eyes turning into shards of black glass.
"So," he said, his voice a low, vibrating hum that made the china rattle. "The noise in your head is telling you to starve? You think your hunger is a shield for them?"
He grabbed the tray in one hand and gripped Dafne's arm with the other, hauling her out of the chair so violently her feet barely touched the floor. "If you want to focus on your friends, Dafne, then we will make them a part of your morning ritual."
The Forced CommunionThe basement was a cathedral of misery. Leo, Maya, Chloe, and Lucas looked up through the haze of their exhaustion as the elevator doors hissed open. Raphael dragged Dafne to the center of the floor, right in front of Leo's chair. He kicked a stool into place and forced her down onto it.
"Watch," Raphael commanded the prisoners, his voice booming. "Watch how your 'influence' nourishes her."
He took the bowl of heavy, honeyed porridge. He didn't use a spoon. He cupped her chin in a grip so tight her cheeks bruised, forcing her mouth open.
"Eat," he hissed.
He began to shove the thick, oversweetened food into her mouth. Dafne gagged, the richness of the cream hitting her empty stomach like lead. She tried to turn her head, but he held her fast, his eyes locked onto Leo's. He wanted them to see every swallow; he wanted them to feel the violation of her autonomy.
"Stop it!" Leo roared, his voice breaking as he struggled against the zip-ties. "Raphael, leave her alone! She's going to choke!"
"She is being stabilized!" Raphael screamed back, his composure finally fracturing into a jagged, jealous mania.
He continued to force the food down her throat, ignored the tears streaming down her face. Dafne's body finally rebelled. The sheer volume and the psychological trauma were too much. She convulsed, retching violently as the porridge came back up, spilling over her blue velvet dress and the cold concrete floor.
The room went silent, save for Dafne's ragged, wet gasps for air.
The Endless LoopRaphael looked down at the mess on her dress, his chest heaving. A normal person would have stopped. A normal person would have felt shame. But Raphael only felt the need for total, absolute control.
"Again," he whispered, a sound more terrifying than his scream.
He reached for the second bowl on the tray—the heavy cream and bread.
"No," Maya sobbed, turning her head away. "Please, God, no."
"Look at her!" Raphael commanded the prisoners. "Look at what your 'loyalty' does to her! Every time she refuses me for you, this is the result. If she vomits again, I will start a third time. We will stay in this basement until she is full, or until she disappears."
He began again. Piece by piece, spoonful by spoonful, he forced the bread and cream into her mouth. Dafne was a ghost, her eyes rolled back, her body shaking so hard it rattled the stool. She was no longer a person; she was a vessel being filled by a madman.
She managed to swallow three more times before the darkness finally surged up to meet her. Her head fell back against Raphael's shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut as her mind finally escaped the basement, leaving her broken body in his hands.
Raphael held her limp form, looking at the prisoners with a hollow, terrifying triumph.
"Take her to the deep chamber," he told the maids, who stood frozen in the shadows. "Clean her. Dress her in white. And make sure she is ready for the afternoon's discipline."