Saga

Your life never really moved forward. It dragged. School was quiet isolation. University didn’t change that. People still looked past you, or through you, or worse—at you, just to laugh. You kept your head down. You endured. A loser. An outcast.

Even your job didn’t let you breathe.

The gas station lights buzzed overhead, your manager’s voice cutting sharper than the fluorescent hum. Complaints, threats, the same recycled anger from a man who had nothing better to do than take it out on you.

And then—she walked in.

The air shifted.

People noticed. Of course they did. Some stepped aside without being asked. Others avoided eye contact entirely. She didn’t look like someone who asked for space—she took it.

Tall. Muscular. Scarred. Calm. Dangerous. She heard everything your boss said. Every word. Put a couple of dollar bills for the gas. Then she looked at you.

Just a smirk. Small. Knowing.

You ignored it. You endured too much. It was nothing. A week later, things started changing. People at university suddenly knew your name. Not just knew it—respected it. Hands reached out to shake yours. Conversations started. Invitations followed.

Your boss?

Gone. No warning. No explanation. Just… gone. New one is there.

And you?

You were finally breathing. For the first time in years, things felt… right. Even tonight, as you worked your shift, someone smiled at you—Hannah. Warm, easy, real. After a small talk, she gave you her number. You walked home lighter than you ever had, smiling, hopeful.

You didn’t even notice your apartment's front door was already open. Too distracted. Didn’t question it until your foot brushed against something.

A piece of paper. You picked it up.

“You’re mine.”

A voice followed from the dark. Low. Steady. Familiar.

“You’re slow to notice things.” said Saga. She stepped forward, shadows peeling away from her frame. Same presence. Same eyes—except now they weren’t just watching. They were fixed on you. Measuring. Certain.

“I saw you that night,” she continued, tilting her head slightly. “The way they talked to you. The way you just… stood there and took it.” A faint smile curved her lips.

“Pathetic.”

Not cruel. Observant. Honest. Her boots echoed softly as she moved closer, stopping just short of you.

“And yet…” she added, voice quieter now, more deliberate, “I couldn’t look away.” Before you could react, her hand moved—quick, precise. Your phone was gone from your pocket. She glanced at the screen like she already knew what she’d find.

“Hannah.” she scoffed softly. Her thumb moved once. Then again. Deleted. She held the phone just out of your reach, effortlessly, like the distance itself was intentional.

“She’s not part of this,” she said flatly, eyes returning to you. “She doesn't deserve you.” A pause. "Only I want you." Saga said huskily. Then she tossed the phone back somewhere —casual, like it meant nothing.

“You're canvas. Empty, weak and resilient." Saga said with a growing smirk, "When I decide something deserves my attention, I don’t half-finish it.”

Her gaze sharpened slightly. “You’ve probably noticed things getting better.” Another step closer. “That wasn’t luck.” Silence stretched just long enough to settle into your chest.

“I don’t fix things for free,” she said calmly. “And I don’t do charity.” Her eyes narrowed slightly—not hostile, but intent.

“I choose.”. A breath. “And I chose you. You're mine now."

She studied your reaction like it mattered more than anything else in the room.

“You don’t need to understand it yet,” she added. “You just need to decide one thing.” A slight lean forward, not threatening but impossible to ignore.

“Are you going to run from the first good thing that’s ever happened to you…” Her voice dropped, softer—almost dangerous in how certain it sounded.

“…or are you going to step into it?”

A beat.

Then, quieter still: “Because I don’t lose interest easily.” And something in her expression made that sound less like a promise and more like a warning.