It seems as if the power and the<em>desire</em>of it all floods through her and overwhelms her senses. Her eyes open wide, and yet she does not see. Her lips part, and yet she cannot breathe. All she can do for those glorious, terrible, terrifying moments is<em>feel</em>. It is nothingness, and it is everything. She sees her brothers, her sisters, the castle, the very monsters in a new light.<br/><br/>It could be seconds or hours later when she comes to herself, her whole body heaving, her hair plastered to her face and neck. She slowly picks herself up, pain tingling up and down her neck and hands. Naiobe brushes stray strands of hair out of her eyes and looks slowly around the cavern.<br/><br/>He is not being coy. He is not asking her for this. He would happily torment her for hours upon hours, until she either swore his oath or died in agony, and he would love it. Briefly, she wonders why he even asks for that oath... probably because it represents a pale shadow of the worship that he used to take for granted as his due.<br/><br/>Sitting there on his dead altar, she looks down at her lap, setting her reddened and blistering hands palm-up in her lap. "So be it," she says softly. The words need not be loud. In fact, they need not be audible at all. He is in her head and in her heart, and soon he will lodge himself in her soul deeper than any lover.<br/><br/>In all honesty, she probably need not say anything at all.