“Dominus,” Sara says, in [i]that[/i] tone of voice. The carnival barker. The [i]are you all watching?[/i] And almost everybody knows it. Almost everybody. “I [i]will[/i] marry you.”

Gasps! Is this a sudden plot twist? Was this the plan all along? [i]Did Sara spend years stringing Euna along just so she could pull this off??[/i] Or, less outrageously, is this a weird charity thing she’s doing? Speculation runs rampant as Sara steps inside the radius of the rock-steady gun, well aware that Dominus could easily throat-punch her. But throat-punches don’t go off on accident. Usually.

“But Euna has spent the last three years earning the [i]right[/i] to get to call herself my bride,” she says, hamming it up. It’s not yelling, but she knows how to project to an audience. “Three years, Dommy! During which she overcame every challenge, every doubt, every hurdle! And now you want to come in and get to say you were my wife for the rest of your life?”

She breathes in deep, eliciting gasps as she subjects herself deliberately to Dominus’s mind control, challenging her. You could use it. Or...

“Not unless you beat me in a [i]wedding challenge.[/i] Then you get everything. The certificate. The money. Euna’s dress.” She turns and mugs to the audience. “(Trust me, she looks much better without it.)” Nervous laughter! Aren’t we having so much [i]fun,[/i] Dommy?

@SARAHPHIM snaps her fingers imperiously, the sound distinct and crisp in the cavernous hall. “Somebody get me the good champagne and the shot glasses from the back! Last woman standing gets the prize!”