" i didn’t say i wouldn’t hurt you. " ( the ARROGANCE of him. the AUDACITY. )
it is an act well-practiced : the princess clutches her cheek. she presses deep, pulls apart the exposed seams of her face, milk-pale fingers spread and stained by the fruit of cruelty. unshed tears lingers like dew. her chin grows wet with his weeping nail-wound.
inbred little prick.
returning the blow would be easy, but to do so would lower herself. expose her to the drukhari vulnerability, and risk joining their beasthood. was revenge worth lathering her tongue upon the dirt? was the honeysuckle of his lymph worth catching slaanesh's eye?
luna's hand trembles, a twin to her lips, and grasps the edge of her collar. as if to present her lovely nape, or bare her chest ⸻ it did not matter which, so long as marazhai managed to pull together what few addled thoughts remained to him and whet his scraped-clean palette. i am weak, said the pitter-patter of her heart, my pain is ripe.
❝ wuh... why? what have i done to displease you? ❞
come close. come at once. she would not torment him in cuts. he would enjoy that, would he not? to have a culture of sadism meant an equal number of masochists; a race of those who took and were taken from, and likely relished both. no… the punishment had to be more. he had to truly give.
