It started with a struggle.
Fumbling, clasp slipping, my non-dominant hand failing me again and again. Something so simple in theory, yet this morning, it resisted. A test before the day even began. The more I tried, the more it reminded me: submission isn’t effortless. Even this, this small act, required patience, required me to work for it.
But then, finally, it was on.
At first, it was just metal. A weight against my wrist, foreign, something to adjust to. But not even an hour passed before it became something else. A tether. A thread. Light at first, barely there, like the feeling of someone watching before you even turn your head. I could ignore it if I wanted to. Pretend I don’t feel it. But I do.
It tugs, not hard, just enough to remind me it’s there. Just enough to make me want to pull against it, to see if it holds. To see if I do.
Then, the flame.
Not a wildfire, not something reckless. Just a slow, steady burn. The kind that doesn’t scream run but whispers stay. The kind that warms before it ever threatens to consume.
By midday, the chain no longer feels like an object. It moves when I move, presses when I shift, a presence as much as a thing. I don’t think of it as separate from me anymore. Instead, I notice its absence when I forget to think about it.
Her presence is like that. A quiet pull. Unseen, but felt. A flame catching at the wick, waiting for the right moment to burn. I have not been consumed yet, not fully, but the heat is there, waiting, licking at the edges of me.
And the longer I sit in it, the more I wonder
Is the thread pulling me closer?
Or is the fire what’s keeping me still?