Don’t speak. Just listen.

“Where the sound of her breath becomes your undoing...”
Whispers aren’t requests. They’re small, slow invasions. Words that wrap around your spine, unfasten your will, and make silence feel like obedience.
If you feel it in your bones, I’ve done my job. The quieter I become, the deeper you fall. And by the time you notice… you're already kneeling.
These aren’t stories. They’re spells. Spoken slowly, designed to dissolve resistance—not with force, but with inevitability.
“I don’t need to raise my voice, do I?”