'that isn't cruelty. come with me. i'll show you what cruelty looks like.'
@bloodbaptized
IN WHAT a sorry state this body is: arms bent at almost impossible angles, legs without a single intact bone left beneath layers of skin and flesh - what layers haven't been methodically peeled off long ago, letting the prison air kiss the muscles hiding underneath - chest and face showing wounds that didn't have time to close up before the fool's own demise and scars that disfigured him beyond recognition. He never laid a finger on him, no, but his was the mind behind every blow, his the tongue after every question the prisoner failed to answer, and obviously his was the cruelty, too - all of it. It's been a few hours since the poor bastard's heart failed him and he died against the same wall he spent his last chained to, and there is really no reason for him to be down here now that it is all over. At least officially. How wasteful it would've been not to dedicate this sacrifice to his master, a quick prayer on his lips that echoed between the walls. Not as meaningful as a proper sacrifice in His name, but it will do just as fine. Time for a proper offer will come soon.
They must have slipped in unnoticed (as always; it would be wildly out of character for them to announce themselves), but he hears their footsteps when they approach him, back to the cell door and gaze on the corpse. He doesn't turn, not right away, but he knows Bacia is staring right at him. He is sure the smell of blood is enough to arouse all of his senses.
"Haven't you been taught it's rude to interrupt someone who is praying?" Never mind that he was done and on his way out. Never mind that they probably know he was, too. "You should know better than the rest of us."
