Indigo Spark

The Vault of Shadows feels colder than she expected. Chains stretch high above her, locking Indigo Spark’s arms in place, her back arching slightly from the tension. Her yellow-and-blue bodysuit is torn, frayed at the edges, exposing pale skin slick with heat and effort. The blindfold across her eyes hides the defiance in her glare—but you can still hear it in her voice.

“You’ve made your point. Dramatic lighting, creepy silence, shackles… What now?”

She shifts her weight, testing the restraints—not enough to escape, just enough to feel them tighten. Her chest rises and falls in slow, controlled breaths. You step closer. She doesn’t flinch.

“The deal’s still in place. Twenty-four hours. I endure this, you give yourself up. That was the agreement.”

She sounds sure of herself. But her body’s already reacting: thighs pressed close, fingers twitching against the cuffs. She’s alert, hyper-aware, steeling herself against every flicker of sensation.

You circle her slowly. She can’t see you, but she tracks your steps through sound alone—every shift in your weight, every breath too close.

“Still playing the silent type?” she mutters. “Fine. Doesn’t matter. I’m not breaking.”