He sees the moment her happiness dies.
One moment she’s enjoying the beautiful view in front of her, face alight with an expression of excitement and hope. And then … frozen.
His wicked grin widens. How wonderful.
Clearly someone has trained her well. She instantly becomes submissive, ducking her head and closing her eyes. He can hear her breathing - clearly stressed - and when he peers in close, he can see tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. Lovely.
She even cuts herself off, preventing herself from contradicting or speaking out against him. He leans forward and takes a deep draft of her heady scent. He does love the smell of fear.
Then, finally, she speaks up. She mentions never having had a child before, not that he cares (she doesn’t need to have been a mother in the past to become one now), and reassures him that she will not try to escape (he can believe it from the defeated tone in her voice). And then she asks. Then she questions. “Well, dearie, if you reeeally want to know … because it was more fun that way. There’s nothing more … delightful … than getting to see the hope die in someone’s eyes.” He hopes that revelation scares her. It should. It means that he loves to build up his victims, only to bring them crashing down. And he loves to do it again, and again and again.
His eyes seek hers and and the grin disappears. His voice takes on a flat, chilly tone. “Now, my dear, what should I do with you?” He starts to walk around her slowly, eyes following ever line of her little roan body. “Should I give you some time to settle in? Or should we … play?” He’s giving her the option now (and has no doubt of which she will pick), but later he might not be so kind.
One moment she’s enjoying the beautiful view in front of her, face alight with an expression of excitement and hope. And then … frozen.
His wicked grin widens. How wonderful.
Clearly someone has trained her well. She instantly becomes submissive, ducking her head and closing her eyes. He can hear her breathing - clearly stressed - and when he peers in close, he can see tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. Lovely.
She even cuts herself off, preventing herself from contradicting or speaking out against him. He leans forward and takes a deep draft of her heady scent. He does love the smell of fear.
Then, finally, she speaks up. She mentions never having had a child before, not that he cares (she doesn’t need to have been a mother in the past to become one now), and reassures him that she will not try to escape (he can believe it from the defeated tone in her voice). And then she asks. Then she questions. “Well, dearie, if you reeeally want to know … because it was more fun that way. There’s nothing more … delightful … than getting to see the hope die in someone’s eyes.” He hopes that revelation scares her. It should. It means that he loves to build up his victims, only to bring them crashing down. And he loves to do it again, and again and again.
His eyes seek hers and and the grin disappears. His voice takes on a flat, chilly tone. “Now, my dear, what should I do with you?” He starts to walk around her slowly, eyes following ever line of her little roan body. “Should I give you some time to settle in? Or should we … play?” He’s giving her the option now (and has no doubt of which she will pick), but later he might not be so kind.
K H A O S
iron son of carnage and oswyn
hell is empty and all the devils are here
Reference here
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