by 'rith

Because the Lyta Hall in the current JSA...isn't. 200 words.

She swore she'd never be a prisoner, or a slave, again.

Yet here she is, following along at her *beloved* husband's side, murmuring endearments so sickly sweet she'd gag on them if she were allowed, clad again in the yellow-and-red she'd foresworn after...after Daniel. After everything ended and she was granted, finally, the chance at a life free of furies and fates and the costumes that brought with them nothing but misery and ruin.

It's his doing. Sweet, noble, *darling* Hector, so very pleased to have her again at his side after so many years apart. So genuinely thrilled to have found and saved her from peril of his own making. Gullible, weak, *stupid* Hector, so blind to his lack of self-control that his own powers took his unspoken wishes and transformed her into his thrall.

She's nothing of what she used to be. He's exactly the same, all childish na´vetÚ under the helmet of Fate. The channel for one of the world's most dangerous mystical powers now rests on the head of a man proven, time and again, to entirely lack any ability to govern his own desires.

Lyta Hall screams inside her head, and her Fury screams back.

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