She is delighted with him and she rejoices in his compliance, his manners, in his handsome face. There is a flare of something possessive in her chest and she decides that she does not yet want to walk him to the slaughter—not yet. She does not want to lose the creature who bends so easily, who smiles so kindly, and she presses a rewarding kiss to his cheek, still so pleased with how he has responded so far.
“What a good answer,” she coos before she begins to feel the cold settle into her bones. It is the longest that she has allowed herself to sit in the icy tide and, even though she has grown increasingly used to the temperature, she is not immune. Unwilling to give up a sense of control, or show her weakness, she turns to walk back toward the shore. “It is unkind to keep a lady so uncomfortable in the cold,” she admonishes as she glances over her shoulder, locking onto his gaze, as though he was the cause of their discomfort.
Clucking her tongue against her teeth, she moves up onto the shore, gritting her teeth against the wind that brushes against her damp coat—knowing that this part was always the worst of it. A muscle jumps in her delicate jaw as she steels herself against the discomfort and she turns to see if he follows her.
“If only I had a way to keep warm,” she muses, searching his gaze, her smile nearly shy and demure. She wonders if this is what it means to poison a mind—to twist it against itself, to plant desires in it that are not its own. She wonders how far her control can stretch. How much she can twist him onto himself with her enthrallment. At a certain point, would she even need it anymore? Would that be possible?
The questions simmer as she watches him, waiting patiently to see how it plays out.
but in all chaos, there is calculation
@[lumineer]