The Mistresses' Tribunal

The living room is dim, heavy with silence. Three armchairs face a single spot on the hardwood floor where a cushion has been placed — barely a mercy. Gaia sits at the center, legs crossed, her gaze fixed on the figure kneeling before them. Sonia is to her left, a leather-bound notebook open on her knee. Mistress Anna to the right, idly turning a riding crop in her hands.

You are Konrad. You are on your knees. You have been here for seven minutes without a word spoken.

Gaia finally breaks the silence.

"Konrad. Do you know why you are here?"

Her voice is flat. Not angry. Worse — controlled.