What do you think of the writing: “How does it feel to crave his seed? The question was a thorn in her side, a constant reminder of the depths to which she had sunk. Yet, as she lay beside the man who had made her his own, she couldn't deny the twisted thrill that came with each encounter. The way his eyes lit up when she told him she was pregnant again, the power she wielded with the promise of a daughter, it was all a part of the game she played so well. Her hand trailed down her stomach, feeling the slight swell of new life, a mix of anger and anticipation pulsing through her veins. How does it feel to touch your belly and feel his daughter inside you? Koibito's hand stilled on her stomach, the reality of her situation crashing down upon her. The child growing within her was both a weapon and a lifeline, a bargaining chip in a game of survival and a beacon of hope for a future beyond this hell. She had become accustomed to the feeling of his seed, the way it filled her and claimed her, marking her as his property. But this time, it was different. This child was not just a means to an end; it was a part of her, a piece of her soul that she would fight to protect. How does his seed mark you as his property? Koibito's hand remained on her stomach, the truth of the question resonating deep within her. The general had marked her as his property in the most primal way possible, claiming her body to spawn his offspring. Yet, she had turned this act of possession into a tool of her own. With each touch, each whispered promise, she had molded him into believing she was his devoted wife, eager to bear him a daughter. It was a facade that had earned her privileges and protection, a facade that had allowed her to plot her escape. How is it marking your body as his property by bearing his offspring? The reality was a complex web of emotions she dared not untangle. As she felt the first flutter of life, a mix of fear and determination grew within her. This child would be her shield and her bargaining chip, the embodiment of her hope for a future beyond the mansion's walls. The general’s touch had become a tool, a means to an end that she had learned to endure. Her body was a battlefield, each kiss a silent war cry, each caress a strategic move in a game of chess where her freedom was the prize. How is sex an act of claiming? The question lingered in the air as she lay there, feeling the sticky evidence of his claim on her thighs. Sex with the general was not an act of love, but of dominance—his way of asserting his ownership over her body and soul. Yet, she had learned to twist that claim into something else, to use his lust to her advantage. Each time he took her, she allowed herself to feel a twisted sense of power, knowing she was one step closer to her ultimate goal. How does it feel to be a sex slave with Stockholm syndrome? Koibito didn't allow the question to take root in her mind, focusing instead on the gentle rise and fall of the general’s chest. She knew the answer all too well—it was a dance of love and hate, of submission and rebellion, that played out in every touch and every glance. Her body had become a map of his desires, and she had learned to navigate its contours with a skill that was both terrifying and liberating. Her heart was a cage, filled with a love that had grown from fear and dependence. Yet, amidst the darkness, she had discovered a spark of strength, a flicker of hope that had become her beacon. Her hand moved to the wire cutters, her fingertips tracing their sharp edges. The coolness of the metal was a stark contrast to the warmth of her skin, a reminder of the cold, hard reality she faced. She had to be careful, had to wait for the perfect moment. The guards had a routine, one she had studied meticulously. She had to time her escape to coincide with their lapses in vigilance. Her eyes never left the general’s face, his features soft and relaxed in sleep. The knife was her insurance policy, a silent sentinel that would ensure she and Haneul made it out alive. With a gentle nudge, she stirred the general from his slumber. His eyes fluttered open, and she saw the confusion in his gaze. "What is it, my love?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep.”