Hello! This is some cross-posted fanfic of a horror visual novel called The Price of Flesh. The context for this is that Eden was purchased by Celia from a dark web auction and used her like a stress toy both psychologically and sexually. This dynamic changed when Celia's shitty husband discovered the situation, tripping over a wire Eden had set for Celia. (It's fine, Harold kills you anyway if you don't trip him in the first place so fuck him)
That does mean there was an element of SA to their relationship, but not now.
There's a lot of complicated emotion and attachment tied up here and I figured people here would enjoy it even if they weren't familiar with the game.
Let's begin with a murder.
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Maybe there was something cracked in Celia to begin with, a narcissistic cheating pig of a husband didn't make someone get off on kidnapping and torture, or maybe it did. Displaced rage from marital and professional slights, projected onto another body because the real target was untouchable, and that still wasn't enough. She drank because even this little game, this elaborate mousetrap, wasn't enough to release the pressure.
Some corner of Eden's mind knew damn well none of this was rational, she knew Celia wasn't some innocent driven to extremes.
But neither was she.
"What... is this?" Celia asked, caught half-way between alarm and curiosity. There was something bright and hungry in her eyes, bringing out the red in them.
Eden grinned, mirthless and fuelled by adrenaline as Harold struggled beneath her, trying to tug the wire away from his throat. She couldn't take her eyes off Celia, however, the gagging bull beneath her only mattered as a means to an end.
"This is a gift," she breathed.
And then Harold was aspirating blood as the wire sawed through his flesh, gurgling, coughing, gasping, spraying, fingers sliding wet and useless through the dripping meat of his throat. Fresh and glistening carmine soaked into the dingy office carpet. It stained her slacks and sleeves, it stained her hands and it stained Celia's when she grabbed Eden and led her out of the building.
Her heart jumped at the sight of the rain-slick street, some part of her eager to flee and pretend everything could go back to normal, eager to pretend she wasn't someone who could enjoy feeling another human life slip through her hands.
Eden was vaguely aware of Celia talking to her. Celia was willing to let her go free, return to her old life but how could she be expected to go back to 'normal' after this? She had killed someone and enjoyed it. She had eaten Celia out after being bound and cut up and she had done it with fervour, with relish, her own hips rocking into nothing. The way Celia looked at her with both bloodlust and desire, that devouring sadism melting into warm words of praise and soft, soothing touches.
It was insane. Irrational. Some unhealthy attachment to cope with a situation most would break under. Maybe she had, or maybe what broke were the chains keeping her contained, docile, normal, the productive member of society, your friendly paramedic.
The friendly paramedic who ignored the thrill she felt when someone slipped away despite her best efforts. She'd never let it be said she wasn't good at her job, she prided herself on it, but when it happened...
No, Eden knew she wasn't going back to her old life. She couldn't. She didn't want to, and she didn't trust herself without a leash. She made sure Celia knew that and that she knew how to make this all go away.
The people who abducted her for that auction cut ties as soon as she was off their hands, and Celia was smart enough to mask her less savory financial activity--Harold could take the fall himself. He wasn't around to defend himself, Eden could pin the blame on him and plead Celia's case.
They were the only ones who actually knew what happened in that room.
"Why would you do that?"
"I told you. I need a leash and maybe you'll be happier without him."
"You're insane."
Eden grinned, not a feral baring of teeth as before but something much lazier and content, like a recently fed wolf. "And?" she said, blithely. "You're stuck with me either way, so what do you say?"
Celia chewed her lip, weighing the risks in her head, and Eden knew it would be easier for Celia to simply kill her and disappear. All Celia had to trust her on was Harold's leaking carcass and her insistence that she needed control, a handler.
Finally, Celia exhaled and levelled her gaze. "Alright."
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Two months later...
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"High flying businessman killed by kidnapping victim in corporate torture sex dungeon."
It was the kind of thing headlines were made of, a scandal that no news publication could resist from the most prestigious and self-serious outlets to the salacious bottom-feeders in the tabloids.
Celia knew exactly which members of the house staff were all too willing to speak on Harold's advances, his temper and need for control, cementing the idea of him as a perverse sadist. The irony wasn't lost on her, but Harold was dead and she wasn't, so the pig could be remembered for his worst qualities and rot.
Lying was as easy as breathing, she only needed the same smooth charm that let her survive a corporate boardroom. What rankled her pride and nearly tripped her up was playing the part of the abused wife, small and weepy and horrified, playing up her reliance on alcohol and shining a light on that thorny tangle of vulnerability--Celia almost preferred the prospect of death to exposing a weakness. Almost. But she reminded herself it was necessary to sell the deception and support Eden's "emotional" testimony to the police.
Part of her expected it to all come tumbling down the moment Eden was separated from her, out of sight, out of reach--out of her control. If Eden wanted to escape she could have, bringing Celia directly to the police was just a bonus, and the thought of being played because an especially endearing mouse convinced her to put the noose around her own neck...
It gripped her with a furious, icy panic--a feeling that melted the moment Eden walked out of the police interview and smiled at her.
It took a little time to sort everything out, but with seemingly nothing more to investigate, the case was closed in short order, allowing them to slip away from the entire situation without the prolonged scrutiny of a criminal trial.
The police loved easy answers, it made them look competent. The perpetrator was dead and the victim was alive to tell her side of the tale.
