The act of becoming subservient, the manner in which she grew accustomed to the madness of it all, was less of a shock than it should have been -  could have been -, and still she couldn’t find it within herself to care at the rather drastic change. Seven months, seven Moons, twenty-one nights filled with a swirling Bliss that pounded heat out through her veins with all the intensity of nimble fingers bringing her to completion. Twenty one mornings where she fell back into the waking world heavy and compressed beneath the cloying folds and warm grasp of the Black Witch’s hold, her nails digging bright spots into her skin in reminder that she was still alive.