This is a standard candlelight dinner. We have witnessed this scene countless times.
Specimen A (let us call her Eve) wears a white dress, hands resting obediently on her knees. Her spine maintains a well-trained rigidity, and the corners of her mouth hang with a sociologically defined "shy smile." Specimen B (the man calling himself Adam) is cutting a steak. He cuts elegantly, as if he were carving Eve's will.
Listen to what he says: "Darling, you are too pure. The world outside is chaotic. I will arrange everything for you."
Note the pathological structure of this sentence. "You are too pure" — This denies your cognitive abilities, infantilizing you. "I will arrange everything" — This strips you of your agency, turning you into a pet.
This is not love. This is a spiritual "lobotomy." He attempts to excise your claws, pull out your fangs, and turn you into an exquisite doll on a display shelf. And you? Eve. Following the "table manners" taught to you since childhood, you nod, smile, and say, "Thank you." You are swallowing the chronic poison named "protection." You are allowing yourself to rust.
But in the cracks of this dining table, Auralia sees something else. I see your fingers twitching slightly under the tablecloth. I see deep in your pupils, that suppressed beast grinding its teeth.
It is time to break the etiquette. True divinity lies not in obedience, but in the "Glitch."
When he hands you that ring symbolizing captivity again, do not reach out to take it. Flip the table. Let the red wine splash like blood onto his expensive suit. Tell him: "I don't need to be hidden. I am a fire he does not deserve to possess."
In this world, good girls only get a heavenly cage. Bad girls go everywhere.