Being the Former Archon's Live-in Cook (Furina x Male reader) *Completed*

Act 18

It had been approximately three hours now since Furina had been bound to the chair against her will. 

Her body ached for total liberation, though that was hopeless considering the situation at hand. Faith, the supposedly demented zealot, had tasked a guard to watch over her person while he was off to commence the holier-than-thou activities before the actual ceremony. Furina could just picture those out in blurry manifestations, she did not want to guess them right. 

The guard's voice was a chilling blend of authority and menace. "It is of no use. You are tethered into our hold. Please do not cause more concern and await your calling," he intoned, his voice resonating with a sinister and emotionless confidence that sent shivers down Furina's spine. The tone was as cold and unfeeling as the ropes that bound her. Frankly, she did not care for their ideologies, but the certainty in his voice made it clear that resistance would be met with harsh consequences and that this reality of her demise would materialize into a fact of life if she were to roll out the red carpet for it without insubordination. 

"Gh...!"

Furina thrashed against the ropes with a desperate fury, her body convulsing in defiance. Every frantic twist of her body sent the wooden legs scraping harshly against the cold stone floor, the grating noise echoing ominously in the confined space. The joints of the chair protested with each violent shift, emitting high-pitched squeaks and deep, resonant creaks that seemed to reverberate through the very walls. Despite being here for three hours, her will had not been depraved yet. She thought of Y/N at home, dumbfounded as to where she would be. Maybe even Neuvilette would rack up a storm if he ever found out she was whisked off without her consent to dangerous territory. Clorinde? Navia or even Charlotte?

Would they even care to find her? Perhaps, the former archon's self-esteem was as low as the abyss, as she believed that no one would come look for her. 

Although those thoughts were like waterfalls, continuously gushing downward into a spiraling rhapsody of weltschmerz, an ennui gone wrong, a sombre zigzagging and tottering to annihilation, her wrists still persevered and continued twisting and turning, trying to slip through the coarse, biting ropes, each movement sending fresh waves of pain shooting up her arms. She rocked the chair, straining every muscle, the wooden legs scraping loudly against the floor, the sound a harsh counterpoint to her labored breathing. Her fingers, numb and slick with sweat, clawed at the binds, nails digging into the unyielding fibers. No, she refused to give up. She had survived centuries of keeping a secret. Why would she surrender to a mere few hours of this madness? In the far recesses of her mind, Furina still held on to whatever ounce of strength that sojourned and circulated throughout her body. 

"Like I said, there is no point to struggle," the guard reiterated, annoying the former archon more and more. 

The unforgiving wooden chair digging into her back and legs as she sat bound and helpless. The ropes around her wrists and ankles were rough and tightly knotted, their abrasive texture biting into her skin, leaving deep, red indentations. It was useless. She couldn't use her Vision for some reason, the ropes were not-so-normal, as she had observed from how tightly it clung to her. 

"This isn't how you treat your goddess," she muttered under her breath, not audible enough for him to hear. It would've made no difference either way if he did, they were that stubborn, like toddlers.

Her thoughts turned inward, searching for any flicker of hope, any chance of escape. The ropes were too tight, the knots expertly tied, and every attempt to free herself only seemed to tighten them further. Struggling even further would cut her hands off, quite literally.