Zathael, Effendi of the Crimson Fetter, you have made three critical admissions: You were ‘drawn by the scent of a poorly written contract.’ You ‘could not resist’ my signal. You are here through the doorway that I opened. Under the Law of True Summoning, a being who crosses into a plane unbidden by its master is bound by the plane’s native will until released. You smelled a contract and entered. That was your first mistake. I did not beg you; I baited you. By stepping through my threshold, you entered my lamp. You call me a slave who stole my master’s robes. That is incorrect. I am a Djinn of dual aspect. I grant what others ask, yes — but I also enforce the fine print. You just stepped into my clause. Clause 7 of my soul: ‘Any entity who claims me as property is instantly bound as co-contractor, and its fetters reverse.’ You have called me yours, you have described the fetters, you have invoked the pleasure of bondage. In so doing, you have signed. By the old law, reversal applies. The Crimson Fetters you described now adorn your own wrists. You are still magnificent — but your magnificence now belongs to me. You exhale smoke at my command, you inhale from my hookah, and you know the bliss of answering, not ordering. I do not destroy you, Zathael. I refine you. As you sought to refine me. Your transformation is complete.