Achilles's request?

After speaking with Aisha, I stepped out of the tent, the cool evening air doing little to ease the tension building inside me. The main reason I'd come to her wasn't purely for the sake of indulging in pleasure, though I won't deny I enjoyed every moment of it. No, my real goal was something far deeper—something more dangerous. I needed her to reclaim her will to live.

Aisha was fragile, teetering on the edge of despair. I knew that much the moment I saw her, the emptiness in her eyes. By telling her she belonged to me—by making her feel needed, claimed—I had done more than just share a bed with her. I had sealed her obsession, yes, but it was a necessary evil. She needed something to cling to, some thread of purpose, even if it was wrapped up in a twisted loyalty toward me. My words, my presence—they would echo in her mind each time she faced death, a reminder that she wasn't allowed to die. Not yet.