Afhalen na 1 uur in een winkel met voorraad
Gratis thuislevering in België vanaf € 30
Ruim aanbod met 7 miljoen producten

Afhalen na 1 uur in een winkel met voorraad
Gratis thuislevering in België vanaf € 30
Ruim aanbod met 7 miljoen producten

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The House was never quiet, but the Chamber of Crimson never spoke — it bled.

Its walls were draped in heavy red silk, so dark it drank the light. Torches guttered low, their flames smothered in smoke, shadows thick enough to swallow sound. The air was heavy with wine and iron, every breath thick enough to choke. And from the ceiling hung chains tipped with red silk, swaying faintly, waiting.

This chamber was where vows broke.

Not in screams, not in fire, but in the slow ruin of surrender. The crimson was said to drink more than sweat — it drank defiance. Once it wrapped a body, it never unwrapped without a vow spoken. Once it touched skin, moans did not stop until silence belonged to it.

Alina knew this, yet stepped inside.

Her gown clung to her hips, thin silk trembling against her breasts, her nipples already stiff beneath the fabric. She felt the pull of the chamber before the door closed, the chains stirring faintly, threads brushing her shoulders like a first warning. Her chest rose jagged, her lips parted wide.

From the shadows came the voice, low and merciless:

"Crimson will not wound you, Alina. It will take you whole. Step forward… and submit."

The silk stirred, sliding down the chains.

And Alina stepped forward.