Caged by Greed
There you are, very literally in a golden cage. To be fair, it is a rather large cage. Some people home whole families in a room that is smaller than this cage, and they're certainly not enduring conditions as fine as yours.
You have everything that can be asked for. Linens so silky they feel like a babbling brook on your skin. Furs from the rarest animals. Pillows full of the rarest feathers. Gowns which would make a princess jealous. Jewels, so many they were as uncountable as the stars. Light at your command. A butler to do whatever you might need done outside the walls of your imprisonment.
Entertainment was always available, should it please you to be sung to, or for a concert to be held in the room which contained your cage. Jesters to fall all over themselves to make you smile. Every book you could ask for. Tools for every craft, and the finest tutors.
And food? Never before had you laid eyes on such delicacies. Roasts the size of your torso, bounties of vegetables—some you didn’t even know the name of. Everything smells otherworldly, covered in rich spices meant for kings. You had barrels of the finest malted wine presented to you at each meal by the eager, all too-wide smile of your captor.
Yes, you have everything. Everything but freedom.
And you would rather be free than have anything else, so you sit in the one corner of your cage, where you don’t even look at the finery which has been forced upon you. You hardly eat, only small morsels of bread your sole attendant begs you to consume at least twice a day, and small glasses of water.
It’s infuriating, for the one that has plucked you from mundanity.
The demon of greed who owned this place feels as if he’s done everything he can to gain your favor. The moment he laid eyes on you, he knew you were a precious pearl amongst the dredges of humanity. He had to have you. And what do women like, if not presents to match their beauty?
Apparently, you were not one of those women easily swayed by material offerings of wealth and status. No matter what he gave you, your icy cool demeanor never budged. He’d never dealt with anyone like you, yet he could not stop himself from getting on his knees and giving you everything he could to gain the one thing he could not have—your affection.
He gained his wealth as anyone smart and successful should—by taking it. Never by force, well most of the time, but the use of threats and blackmail certainly shouldn’t count as violence. He wasn’t full of rage or wrathful, that was his brother’s domain, but he never walked away from a transaction without getting what he wanted. He’d swindled fortunes out from under empires, and would take penny candy from a baby, just to turn around and sell it to another for two.
And yet, everywhere he went, everyone marveled at his generosity.
He tipped in huge amounts at pubs, funded exquisite balls, and built palaces with his ill-gotten gains. He was beloved, at least to his face, and he was smug with the knowledge that though they likely cursed him behind his back, they still accepted his invitations and his leering attention.
Kings, lords, business men, all would look the other way as he stares down the front of their wives’ gowns or grabs at their hips just to watch them squirm, all in hopes that he might share some of his wealth. He still did those things, even though he had you now. Well thinking about it, he actually did it more, because despite all he gave to you (for nothing in return!) you would barely look at him, let alone touch him.
You hear him approach before he reaches the door. The sound of footsteps echoes in the stairwell which leads up to your tower.
When the door swings open, you don’t even look to see who it is, you know.
“Let me out of here, Mammon.” You demand in a cold voice.
“Is that anyway to speak to the one who cares for you so diligently, my sweet starling?”
You don’t bother to answer him.
He clicks his tongue a few times, “Starling, need I teach you how to use your voice again?”
“No.”
“Good. I’d hate to punish you.” He purrs. “I’ve something special for you today.”
“Wonderful.” Your voice drips with venom, yet he smiles.
“Aren’t you cold? Why won’t you lay on your bed, the nurse said your leg would heal better if you keep it lifted.”
Yes, your broken leg, earned after your last escape attempt. It had been your best and most successful one, up until you’d fallen four stories off the edge of the castle wall and nearly died. Mammon had been the one to find you, mummering about how “lucky” you were to be alive, and how he’d ensure you were protected from now on, even from yourself.
That was how you ended up in this cage.
It actually suited his purposes much better, as the cage allowed him to force his gifts on you whether you wanted them or not. Before you could throw them out the windows, burn them, or elsewise find a way to banish any and all things he tried to give you. And while here you could attempt to toss some of the smaller things, you’d soon grown tired of that, as they all magically managed to reappear where they’d been by the next day.
“Why would I bother?” You answer him. “Even if I could walk again, where would I go?”
“Precious darling, I would take you anywhere you would like to go.”
“I want to go home.” You demand then, and he just sighs.
“You are home. There is nowhere else for you to go anymore, don’t you realize this already?” His laugh is terribly condescending, as always. “Now, eyes on me.”
You refuse, hugging yourself tighter and turning your back to him. Maybe the only time you look at the piles of riches on offer for you is when he enters the room.
“Look at me.” He demands with a hiss.
Oh, he’s in a poor mood today.
Not that you care, but your leg does hurt terribly and you’d rather not earn his punishment. They were normally just spankings, but it was the touch of his wandering hands on your person which made your skin crawl and made you often concede to his will. That false human face he put on for others might have convinced them, but you knew the true form of the demon underneath.
So you turn, the memory of how he’d kneaded your ass cheek between each hard spank, muttering to himself about the feeling of your skin, is enough to keep you somewhat compliant. You almost shudder, thinking about how he’d greedily took his time to examine your terrified form, loving how you shivered.
“Ah, those eyes.” He sighs once you meet his gaze, “They never fail to soothe me.”
Mammon has dark hair, and darker eyes, in this form at least. He keeps it slicked back with a mountain of grease that makes his hair shine in every light. And he’s got a thin, pointed mustache and beard, meticulously kept. He dresses well, usually in purple doublets, no matter how expensive it is to keep them.
The phantom traces of the demon are visible only because you’ve seen the true him so many times. When he’s come home in a rage for having to deal with the droll humans he steals from, or in rapture at his new earnings. He comes to you and stretches himself out to his true form, which barely fits in your new room.
In that form he’s got dark green skin, leathery and hot to the touch. He’s nearly 9 feet tall, and has wings which span a vast distance, and are dexterous enough to enwrap you. His eyes glow a feral green, and when you’re sleeping, he’ll use one of his talons to so gently trace the line of your cheeks, and shoulders. It would be so easy to tear you in two, but he can’t bring himself to even scratch you.
He wants you, and yet you will not let him have you.
If he’s approached you in human form, it’s under some dim delusion that you like him more when he appears more approachable. You don’t. The façade of humanity is a thin veil, one that only exemplifies his hypocrisy.
He holds in his hand a small box covered in velvet. And when he’s sure he’s got your full attention, he very purposefully begins to lower himself to one knee. The box ticks open, within it is a ring, which by all accounts suits your tastes perfectly. Your mind has a hard time comprehending the sight before you.
Then he speaks.
“My most precious thing, who owns my whole heart and more, will you marry me?”
Your jaw simply drops.
He couldn’t possibly be serious.
Enjoyed yourself?
Consider leaving the mansion a tip!