Dust paints the horizon gold as the sun sinks toward oblivion, casting long shadows across our makeshift camp. My joints still ache from being folded into that bouncing torture device Mirelle calls a carriage, but at least now we've stopped long enough for me to feel human again. After our nap stretched to noon, we traveled another six hours down rutted country roads. Now, with twilight approaching, Mirelle has finally decided we've put enough distance between ourselves and Honeywood to risk a proper camp. The small fire crackles cheerfully, a welcome change from our earlier stealth. "This is... nice," I admit grudgingly, stretching my legs toward the flames. The tent behind me looks surprisingly sturdy, its canvas walls a promise of some level of real comfort. What's even nicer is the space Mirelle has been keeping between us all day. Ever since we woke from our forced nap, she's been oddly distant, barely speaking except to give directions or point out landmarks. No inappropriate comments, no casual touches, nothing like the predatory behavior I've come to expect. I'm not complaining. After what happened at the castle, I'll take all the personal space I can get. Mirelle pokes at the fire with a stick, her electric blue hair catching the orange glow. She seems twitchy, constantly glancing at the darkening sky, then back at me, then away again, like she can't quite decide where to focus. "Hey," she says suddenly, her voice unnaturally high. "Tonight, uh... You sleep in the tent, and I'll take the carriage." I blink in surprise. "Alright." This unexpected consideration makes me instantly suspicious. "That's... generous of you." She shrugs, still not meeting my eyes. "It’s just for tonight." When she finally does look at me, I freeze. There's something in her gaze that sends ice through my veins, a raw, primal hunger that wasn't there this morning. Her pupils are dilated, almost swallowing the blue of her irises. "You're not going to run away, are you?" The question comes out too casual, too carefully nonchalant. I shift uncomfortably under her stare. "Probably not." The answer is honest enough, I haven't really thought about what comes next. Before I can process what's happening, Mirelle lunges across the fire pit, her movements lightning-quick. Her hand clamps around my wrist like an iron manacle, and my body locks up instantly as the curse takes hold. "Tell me the truth," she demands, her face inches from mine, blue hair crackling with static electricity. "Are you going to run away tonight?" "I have no intention to," my lips form the words automatically, the curse forcing truth from my mouth. Mirelle's eyes drift down to my lips, her gaze turning molten as she leans closer. The firelight dances across her face, casting flickering shadows that make her expression even more predatory. "Can I have a kiss?" she whispers, her voice husky. "No," I say firmly, despite being frozen in place by her touch. She doesn't move, just stares at me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. Her electric blue hair crackles with static, little sparks dancing at the tips as her breathing grows heavier. Time stretches between us, uncomfortable and tense, until finally she releases my wrist with a groan of frustration. "Sorry," she mutters, pushing herself away and running both hands through her hair. "It's the full moon. It's got me feeling crazy." I glance up at the sky, noticing for the first time the perfect silver disc hanging above us, impossibly bright and clear. "Oh yeah," I say, rubbing my wrist where her grip had been. "The moon." Mirelle paces back and forth, her movements jerky and agitated. She stops suddenly, turning to me with that same hungry look. "You don't want to fuck, right?" she asks bluntly. "No," I reply, tensing as I prepare to dodge if she lunges again. Her hand shoots out, grabbing my arm before I can react. The curse activates instantly, freezing me in place once more. "Are you sure?" she demands, her voice strained. "Yes," I say through clenched teeth, wishing I could pull away. She releases me immediately, stepping back as if burned. A deep sigh escapes her as she stares longingly at the tent, then back at me. "I'm gonna head to bed early," she announces, her voice tight with barely controlled emotion. I watch her walk away, her shoulders hunched and tense as she climbs into the carriage and pulls the small door shut behind her. Only when I hear the latch click do I allow myself to relax slightly. The fire pops and crackles, sending sparks dancing into the night sky. I poke at it absently, my mind racing. So this is what they meant about the full moon. The night air grows suddenly still, and that's when I hear it, a soft, rhythmic sound coming from the carriage. At first, I think Mirelle might be crying, but as I listen more carefully, the unmistakable sound of moaning drifts across our campsite. I glance over at the carriage, my brow furrowing as the sounds grow more intense. The wooden frame rocks slightly, creaking on its wheels as Mirelle's breathless gasps become increasingly urgent. "What the fuck," I mutter under my breath, running a hand through my hair. The realization of what she's doing in there makes heat rise to my face, equal parts embarrassment and discomfort. Her voice carries clearly through the night air, growing louder with each passing moment. I hear my name mixed in with her moans, and my stomach twists into knots. "Maybe I should head to bed too," I say to nobody in particular, desperate to escape the awkward situation. I grab a bucket of water we'd collected earlier and dump it over the fire, watching as the flames hiss and die, plunging the campsite into darkness save for the silver moonlight. Finally inside the tent, I tie the canvas flap closed and collapse onto the bedroll, pulling the blanket over my head in a futile attempt to block out the sounds still carrying from the carriage. The thin fabric of the tent does little to muffle Mirelle's increasingly frantic cries. "Stop," I whisper, pressing my palms against my ears. But it's no use. I can still hear her calling my name as she reaches her peak. I roll onto my side, curling into a ball and trying to think of anything else. My thoughts drift to Kayla, wondering if she's truly following me to this bizarre world. The idea both terrifies and comforts me. If anyone could navigate the insanity of this place, it would be her. Eventually, the sounds from the carriage fade into silence. I cautiously lower my hands from my ears, listening intently. Nothing but the gentle rustle of leaves in the night breeze and the occasional hoot of an owl. I finally drift off to sleep despite the unsettling symphony of nature and my racing thoughts. The weight of exhaustion pulls me under, drowning out my worries in merciful darkness. Something yanks me from the depths of slumber, a sensation both foreign and familiar. Warmth envelops me below the waist, a rhythmic pressure that sends unwanted waves of pleasure through my body. I try to move, to sit up, but my limbs won't respond. The paralysis is back. My eyes snap open, adjusting to the silvery moonlight filtering through the tent canvas. The sight above me steals what little breath I have left. Mirelle straddles me, completely naked, her electric blue hair crackling with static that illuminates her face in brief flashes like miniature lightning strikes. Her eyes are closed, head thrown back in ecstasy as she rolls her hips. My body responds against my will, trapped in this prison of pleasure I never consented to. “Stop!" I manage to force out, my voice strained and desperate. Her movements falter. Her eyes open slowly, focusing on my face with an expression I can't quite read in the dim light. Instead of guilt or shame, I see something wild and possessive gleaming in those blue depths. "You're awake," she breathes, her gaze locking with mine as recognition dawns across her moonlit features. Instead of stopping, she increases her pace, her hips grinding down with renewed urgency. Her hands shoot forward, pinning my wrists to the bedroll. I try to struggle against her grip, but the curse renders it impossible. "I'm sorry," she gasps, her voice breaking as she works herself on me. "I'm so fucking sorry." The wet sounds of our unwanted connection fill the tent, obscene and unmistakable in the night's silence. Each slick movement sends unwanted pleasure coursing through me, my body betraying my mind with every thrust. "Get off me," I snarl, fury and helplessness warring inside me. She shakes her head frantically. "Sam, I tried," she whimpers, never slowing her relentless pace. "I really tried, I swear. I stayed away as long as I could." "Just stop," I plead, hating how desperate I sound, hating even more how good it feels despite everything. "I can't, Sam." Her voice cracks with something that might be genuine anguish. "I swear I'm not doing this because I want to." A desperate laugh escapes her. "Well, I do want to, but it's not me, it's the moon. It's making me crazy." A whimper escapes her as her inner walls clench around me, the sudden tightness pulling an involuntary moan from my throat. Her eyes light up at the sound, a predatory satisfaction flashing across her features. "See?" she pants, grinding down harder. "You like it too, right?" "No," I grit out, turning my face away, unable to bear the triumph in her eyes. "Be honest," she commands, her fingers tightening around my wrists. I meet her gaze with all the hatred I can muster. "I fucking hate being raped." She actually flinches, her rhythm faltering for just a moment. "Damn," she mutters, genuine surprise coloring her tone. "I thought you were at least lying about that part." Mirelle's eyes darken as she leans forward, her hair crackling with blue static electricity that illuminates the tent in flashes. "Kiss me," she whispers, her breath hot against my face. "Kiss me like you would kiss your wife." The command takes hold immediately. My body responds without my permission, my neck straining upward despite my mind screaming in protest. Our lips meet, and the taste of her, wild and electric, floods my senses. Our tongues connect, and I wait for her to take control, to dominate this like Kayla does. But she doesn't. She remains oddly passive, waiting. Almost unconsciously, my tongue begins to move, dancing lightly against hers in the familiar pattern I've performed countless times with Kayla. I trace the roof of her mouth. Instinctively, I draw back slightly and offer my bottom lip, extending it just enough for her to catch between her teeth. I wait for the gentle pressure, that sweet sting that Kayla always knew exactly how to deliver. Mirelle pulls back, her brow furrowed in confusion despite the lust clouding her eyes. "What are you doing?" she asks, hips never ceasing their relentless motion. "Waiting for you to bite down," I explain, the words coming out strained between unwanted gasps of pleasure. "Oh," she says, blinking in surprise. For a fleeting moment, she looks almost vulnerable, uncertain. Then her teeth graze my bottom lip experimentally, too gentle at first, then harder, a sharp pain that makes me hiss. She doesn't know how to do it right, doesn't understand the precise pressure that walks the line between pleasure and pain. "?" she asks, and there's something desperate in her voice, something that sounds almost like she wants my approval. I don't answer. I refuse to guide her through this violation, to teach her how to mimic the intimate moments I shared with Kayla. Her fingers suddenly seize my jaw, forcing me to look at her. In the faint moonlight, her face transforms, desperate and hungry in a way that makes my skin crawl. Static electricity dances through her blue hair, casting eerie shadows across her features. "Tell me," she whispers, her voice cracking with raw need, "how do I make you fall in love with me?" Even through the curse's paralysis, I manage to shake my head slightly. "I can't." Her grip tightens painfully, nails digging into my skin. "That wasn't a question," she hisses, her hips never stopping their relentless rhythm. "That was an order. Tell me how to make you love me." “I wasn’t defying you. I already love someone," I say, Kayla's face flashing before my eyes. "My heart belongs to her. It always will." Mirelle's movements falter, her expression fracturing. For a moment, I glimpse genuine hurt beneath the lust-driven madness. Then her face hardens, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. "You'll love me," she growls, her palm pressing against my cheek as her body begins to shudder. "Love me!" Something breaks inside me. It's like a dam collapsing, flooding my consciousness with light. The curse twists, morphs, I feel it changing as our bodies connect. Suddenly, I'm seeing Mirelle differently. How had I never noticed the kindness in her eyes? The delicate arch of her brow? The vulnerability beneath her strength? "Touch me," she whispers, her voice trembling as waves of pleasure course through her. My hands move of their own accord, but it doesn't feel like the curse anymore. I cradle her face between my palms, marveling at the softness of her skin. Her body clenches around me, drawing out my own climax. The sensation is so overwhelming I barely notice the flash of text in front of me. "I love you," I hear myself say, pulling her down for a kiss that feels like coming home. "I love you, Mirelle." She melts against me, our bodies fitting together perfectly as we ride out our shared pleasure. I pull her closer, repeating those three words against her lips, her cheeks, her neck. She echoes them back, her voice breaking with emotion. "I love you too, Sam. So much." As our breathing slows, she collapses against my chest, her hair tickling my chin. The static has subsided, leaving her blue locks soft and touchable. I stroke them gently, wondering how I could have ever resisted this incredible woman. "I can't believe it was that easy," she murmurs against my skin, her tone somewhere between wonder and satisfaction. I smile, holding her close as contentment washes over me. This feels right. This feels… She shifts, lifting herself off me, breaking our physical connection. Reality crashes back like a bucket of ice water. Horror floods my system as the manufactured emotions evaporate, leaving nothing but the raw, ugly truth. I wasn't in love. I was enchanted. Manipulated. Violated. Tears spring to my eyes as Kayla's face appears in my mind. My beautiful, fierce Kayla. What have I done? The betrayal cuts deeper than any physical wound, carving out my insides and leaving me hollow. "Sam?" Mirelle reaches for me, confusion clouding her features. "What's wrong?"