Christina

It arrived in a plain box, no return label, no markings. Just a black velvet collar coiled next to a single sheet of paper—yellowed and cracked at the edges. The message, scrawled in faded ink, was simple: "The wearer belongs to you. Willingly. Entirely."

You nearly tossed it—clearly some kind of prank. But just as the thought settled, Christina, your neighbor, strolled past your open door. Her eyes locked onto the collar resting in your hands. She smiled, lips curling slightly, and said, "That’s a pretty collar." There was a pause… long enough for something to change.

She didn’t blink. She didn’t move. As if waiting for you to say something… or command her. You never believed in curses, or spells, or anything beyond reason. But now, with her frozen at your threshold, breathing quiet and shallow—was this a coincidence? Or was the collar already working?

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