It took several minutes for Rogue to wait patiently as Lilitha drank her fill. Only then did he stop and tuck the waterskin away.
But the brief docility she showed during feeding vanished instantly after she finished. Lilitha still clutched her Pendant, her gaze at Rogue tangled with wariness, defiance, fear, and confusion. Her young mind couldn’t decipher his intentions. He resembled her former mistress, yet differed.
Rogue, having interrogated countless prisoners, understood why Lilitha harbored such mixed emotions. Hope still flickered within her, making her imagine possibilities. But it was only the second day. Slowly, she’d realize this vague hope was useless.
With feeding done, Rogue’s morning task ended. He pulled a small clock from his spatial pouch and hung it on the wall. Then he placed a chamber pot in the corner, set the stool beside it, called Lilitha’s name once, and left the warehouse.
The wooden door slammed shut with a harsh screech. To Lilitha, it was the sweetest sound she’d heard all day. Rogue was gone—no more beatings.
Yet Rogue hadn’t left entirely. Outside the warehouse, he observed Lilitha’s reaction after his departure. A trace of relief softened her deadened eyes. She shuffled back to her straw-filled corner. Her thick dragon tail curled protectively over her private parts, hugged tightly by both arms—as if seeking safety.
The cramped four-by-three-meter warehouse held only the tick-tock of the clock’s hands on the wall.
Rogue stroked his chin and snorted softly outside. "Think it’s safer and comfier here without me?"
Actually, the warehouse grew terrifying only after Rogue left—not from his tricks, but from its nature. Cramped, silent, lightless, the endless dark and quiet would blunt Lilitha’s sight, heightening her other senses. She’d start hearing her own breath, heartbeat, every tiny movement. Already fearing Rogue, this soundless void would amplify that dread and all her negative emotions.
Rogue had tested this once. He locked a demon prisoner—a physically strong one—in a pitch-black, soundproof cell. Within half a day, the demon snapped, mind shattered.
Last night, Lilitha hadn’t noticed the space. She’d been too exhausted. Now, regaining strength, it became torture. The clock and the dim light from the roof were merely safeguards to prevent her breaking too soon. The clock offered hope: *He’ll come when it chimes. In other words, I, her master, will become her new hope.*
Rogue ordered Unit One to watch Lilitha, then left. He estimated her stubbornness wouldn’t last a week in this environment.
At 2 PM sharp, Rogue returned for feeding. He tossed a small bread chunk, then left.
At 7 PM, he came again. This time, he waved a large loaf before Lilitha’s eyes before placing it on the stool as usual. This wasn’t a reward. Next, he’d treat her wounds with herbs. Predictably, Lilitha struggled fiercely. The herbal water stung her cuts, sending unbearable tingles through her skin.
Disobedience meant beatings and reduced food. Rogue’s goal remained unchanged: to make Lilitha accept she was just a pet. Her body, food, even thoughts must obey her master.
Three days passed. Each time Rogue approached, Lilitha fought back. She defied everything he did. Her spirit refused to yield. Tears and pleas only aimed to protect the Pendant—the sole item covering her chest, the only thing resembling clothing these past days.
Notably, she grew slightly quieter during feedings.
At 9 PM, Rogue exited the warehouse. The wooden door closed. From outside, the walls turned transparent. Lilitha visibly relaxed. She clenched her tiny fists, nodded firmly as if encouraging herself, then curled under Rogue’s coarse cloth blanket in her corner. She stared blankly at the roof’s lone light source.
Rogue pulled out a parchment notebook—Lilitha’s three-day conditioning log. He stroked his chin, murmuring partly to himself, partly to Unit One beside him, "She’s smarter than I thought. And seems convinced I won’t harm her."
Rogue had planned the dim, cramped space to breed despair. Once Lilitha couldn’t bear solitude, his arrivals would become her sole anticipation. The clock was meant to fix his schedule in her mind. The roof light aimed to prevent breakdowns. Yet Lilitha now fixated on that light, recalling past joys or future hopes, ignoring the oppressive space itself.
Most tellingly, Rogue’s punishments weren’t harsh—mostly bearable slaps within her limits. This bred an illusion: *He punishes but won’t hurt me like my old mistress. He won’t truly abuse me. If I just endure and wait, I’ll escape someday. The future isn’t dark.*
"Was I too gentle?" Rogue glanced at Lilitha, then at Unit One.
Unit One gurgled twice, clueless.
"Indeed," Rogue sighed. "Conditioning is far trickier than expected."
Tomorrow, he’d change tactics. Gentleness was counterproductive. This hopeful Lilitha wasn’t the pet he wanted. He crossed out the original plan on the parchment with a firm "×".
