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Protection—it had been a delusion. A simple chest pushed against a door was no grandeur moat for a beast that could simply vaporize into a room; her feeble attempts must have seemed pathetic to him, silly even.
Elizabeth’s eyes had been trained on a flake of snow that was dwindling between the winds and the outside glass when Laban entered. She hadn’t sensed him, not until he spoke at least. His words caused her to waver slightly; there had been an anticipation that she would never have to seem him again. Blinking away the lethargy, she turned back to the windowsill, resting her chin against a palm—she wasn’t going to answer him.

Then, the heat.

A slight sear spread against her neck as the attack begun, her body unsure what was happening. The sound of threads ripping crackled in her ears; internal alarms beginning to cry out.
This wasn’t appropriate. Her neck was bare, rapidly followed by the rest of her. Every touch dug at her skin, the fire increasing.
He was burning her. The stench of cooking flesh reached her nose as he finished, briskly turning to gather the shreds of his own doing. Elizabeth gasped between her sobs, letting her hands wander to the worst of the wounds.

To the north of her rounded hip, were Laban’s fingers, still imprinted in an engraved red from where he had caressed her last. Invisible flames licked at the welts that ran across the entirety of her frame.
As he instructed her towards her hair, she obeyed. It was tied back, a covering that could shield her for a moment. The band slipped noiselessly from her tresses and she brought them forward, letting the tangled strands run over her chest.

Undone and nude, Elizabeth held all the colors of autumn. A thicket of cinnamon gently rested within her abused thighs, twin droplets of gilded caramel prickled upwards by the cool of the morning centered on her breasts. She was the harvest, suddenly knocked down by the ravaging of a storm. Arms wrapped around her stomach as she knelt down, deepening into herself as she scooted away from Laban who was still busying himself with the crumbs of her clothes. He hadn’t turned back around to face her—she steadied her sobs, letting them fade into normal rhythm with her breaths.
The time for pity was over.
“I'll have your jacket now.”


( Shhhh, I snuck on! I'll be back tomorrow )
The Amazing Flying Circus's avatar

Eloquent Elocutionist

Elizabeth Mary withered into a corner, not even having thought to take a blanket to cover herself in her haste. Laban paid little mind; it was not as if he'd never seen a female before. He paid her words no mind as he gathered her white clothes - every scrap - and took a step, melting out of the room and into the middle of the second floor before the fire. As hot as it already was for the devil, he summoned the fire higher; high enough so that he could reach out and touch it. At arms' length he dropped the broken dove of Elizabeth's sacrificial clothes into the hungry flame. For a brief instant, the red fire burned green before it died back down to the first floor and went out into its ashen circle.

Laban returned to the room without magic; making a point use the door that swung outward and silently show Elizabeth that her cedar chest barricade was simply not going to help her (as if he hadn't proven it enough by disregarding the door completely before). When he saw her with her hair down, he smiled. She was beautiful. "Keep your hair like that." he ordered, "It suits you better." whether the words were taunting or complimentary it was difficult to tell.

Now for the difficult part. He clicked his tongue and peered into the bare closet; what did he want the girl to wear? Nothing leathery and provocative (as was the current trend with demonic females), something more human. She liked skirts, it seemed, though not the type Laban would approve of. The demon pulled his head out of the closet to study her naked figure and was reminded that he could hardly wait to put his plan into motion. His temperature rose at least ten degrees with his thoughts. Everything about this girl's image was perfect, all the way down to her righteous sorrow.

What was it human girls were wearing these days? He produced from the closet a pair of impossibly tight jeans and a shirt that was loose at the shoulders, meant to reveal one or both of them. He also had mind to produce underwear for the girl, and unceremoniously tossed the new clothes to her. "Put those on." came the unnecessary order. Her body caught his wandering eye once more and he added an afterthought, "Unless you don't want to."
Jeans.
For being produced by the mind of a demon, the clothes weren’t all that bad. The majority of the girls in her senior class had worn jeans that revealed far more, with gashes all over their thighs and low enough to leave little to imagination. She had never understood why they would buy items that already appeared to be in tatters—yet they did.
All of them.

Righted upwards on her palms, Elizabeth hurried forward to where the clothes had landed. The lack of exercise over the years had left the girl soft, no sign of any real developed muscle mass. It wasn’t that she was large—in fact, like the rest of the Holden clan, Elizabeth was rather emaciated in weight for her lengthiness. Something about no real food, just items to live upon, kept them all gaunt.
She was just, tender.

The claret top was thrown unevenly over her chest, the constellations of freckles upon her shoulders still peaking through as it continued to slink down as she pulled it into place. It was a rather nice fabric, deeper in hue than she had been used to, but warm. Her mother had always placed her in whites, with a few cream dresses sprinkled in so it didn’t repeat too much.
With the pants half over her knees, Elizabeth stumbled, ashamed as she glanced around—could they even go up further? She strained her bottom up, wiggling into the intolerably snug jeans. From some blessing, they went over and around, hugging into her fluid curves. A skirt would have been far more comfortable. Elizabeth straightened, afraid that the pants would dissolve at the seams. There would be no way she could run in these—but perhaps that had been the demon’s plan.
The jeans were more effective than metal bondage.

“I am dressed now.” It was a pointless observation; he had been watching the entire time no doubt. She had kept her eyes focused on the bed’s frame, tracing the grain of the deeply stained wood, so she wouldn’t have to see him. The wounds on her side still sung out as she moved, the fabric’s threads catching on the raised edges.
Though he had promised that he would not kill her the day before, he had never mentioned anything of torture.
The Amazing Flying Circus's avatar

Eloquent Elocutionist

Laban had indeed been watching her, stifling his raw amusement while she struggled with the pants. The clothes weren’t nearly as bad as they could have been, considering the situation.

See? He wasn’t all bad.

While Elizabeth was dressing the demon had noted something unusual on her skin. He glided over to the girl and fell to one knee to inspect it. One hand lifted the shirt back up so that he could see the worst of the welts, the other rested on her bum and gave a small squeeze.

No. He was definitely all, one hundred percent non-redeemable.

That was odd; had he been hot enough that his mere touch burned her? He let loose the shirt as he stood uncomfortably close, “I can fix that.” he offered. Whether she did or did not take said offer was her own choice, an increasingly rare opportunity.
“Do not touch me.” Her eyes shut at his inspection, waiting for the pain to flare back up against her skin. Yesterday, his closeness had been uncomfortable, raising her hackles—now, it was agonizing.

And he had branded her.

Elizabeth attempted to push against his backhand, which was still cupping her bottom. Whatever mending he could do frightened her. She did not want his magic churning within her skin, forcing her body to heal.
No, she would pray.
And maybe clean the wound with some antibiotics.
Or let it fester until infection spread.
Either way, Laban wasn’t coming near her with his healing curses.

“No,” The priest’s daughter drew the edges of her shirt back down, ignoring that his hand was still there. It sat like a bulge under the fabric, seemingly cool. “Just get away.”
The Amazing Flying Circus's avatar

Eloquent Elocutionist

The demon could hear the agony in her voice, see it in her stance. On one side of the coin he pitied her; he was a terrible person (no, not a person at all) and she had been so sheltered (so smothered). Perhaps she would have been happier drinking the poison herself.

On the other side, the devil was doing a devil's favorite thing. He felt so powerful. It was a vanity; something he originally took little of. Everything she felt was in direct relation to him. It was nice, to be in control.

Her voice was hushed when she told him not to touch her. Laban had to admit, the girl had a spine, telling him what to do (even if her voice shook)... though her words did not move his hands.

She denied his offer and pulled the shirt down even over his left hand. "Just get away." she said. Laban wondered if her answer would have been different had he told her that the healing process involved no touch from him; all she would need to do is soak in a bath with certain magical modifications.

Oh well. he thought; it was her choice. This time.

With a final pat the demon started off toward the door. "Come down when you're hungry enough to eat." he said, giving her the courtesy of not facing her when he spoke. "And Elizabeth, I must know. When you dreamed of being a mother, did you envision yourself with a son, or a daughter?"

He didn't wait for an answer and with a few steps Laban had been whisked down the stairs.
"And Elizabeth, I must know. When you dreamed of being a mother, did you envision yourself with a son, or a daughter?"

He had disappeared, just leaving her there, simmering. She had heard what he had said—too clearly in fact. Such an inquiry was nauseating, especially from the twisted mouth of a demon. Realization was pricking at the base of her skull; he had asked her for a reason no doubt. Her stomach churned, an acidic tang rising to her tongue—it was disgusting. He couldn’t do that—she would throw herself down the stairs first. Had the Lord grown so distant that he could not see her any more? Elizabeth felt alone, hands gnawing at her throat in a nervous habit.
The poison would be a more pleasant fate.
She should have listened to her father; now it was too late.

Moving forward, she grasped the chest by the handles, dragging it away from the door. Even though it was empty, the weight of the trunk still strained at her spine. It had been a chore pushing across the room the night before; now it was nearly impossibly heaving it back into position. She left it haphazardly pushed aside--just enough room for her to step over the edge and out into the corridor.
Her eyes narrowed; there had to be something she could use against the beast. Somewhere down the hall, she could smell the furnace, gurgling between the pillars.
Laban was nowhere to be seen.
Good.

An antiquated padded chair sat before a closed door, the arms turned upwards, ending in carved lion faces. They glared at the intruder, wooden eyes cast upon her. In other times, Elizabeth would have smirked at her luck, but her fate hung too closely over head. She surged forward, silently knocking the chair to its side. The legs were inhumanly sturdy, molded to the body as if it were hewn from one piece of oak. Yet, she kicked anyways. A snap—Elizabeth continued unaware if it had been her ankle or the chair. Another crack. The leg bent, cleaving roughly at the invisible seam. She exhaled, grabbing the item and pressing it against the floor. It separated in half. The noise had echoed to even Elizabeth—she would have to work quickly; Laban was probably already on his way to see what his little pet was doing.

Two pieces of wood, one place horizontally against the other, and Elizabeth held a crude rendition of a cross. It wasn’t much, but her only defense that she could think of against a devil. It wasn’t like she could beat him to death—the chair already proved too difficult of an enemy.
Hobbling, Elizabeth started off towards the stairs.

Laban had mentioned something about the kitchen.
The Amazing Flying Circus's avatar

Eloquent Elocutionist

Laban stared into the cupboard. He really shouldn't eat another of the pastries for breakfast. But they were so good. One more wouldn't hurt.

The roll was there before he'd even reached his hand inside. Piping hot the demon took a large bite with no regrets.

Then came the snapping, splintering sounds. What was that girl up to?

Laban peered around the corner to see her stumbling down the stairs with two chair legs. What was wrong with her? She stood as if it pained her and held the legs as if they were a cross, something that the demon had noticed was not around her neck.

The fact was obvious, but Laban felt it must be stated anyway. "You broke my chair." he took a few dangerous steps toward her, "You broke my chair to make this?" With no ill effects whatsoever, the demon gripped the heavy legs in his hand and seized them from the girl. His temper was rising. No; he had to keep the girl healthy. He directed his rage into a comment intended to belittle her, to make her feel as if the situation was her fault. To make her feel like she was dumber than the rocks people trod on, "This all may have been avoided had you been wearing one around your neck yesterday. Naughty girl," he clicked his tongue and turned his back to her once more. He had tastier, more important things to take care of in the kitchen.
“I will not be some breeder.” She spat. Though her ankle was considerably more swollen—the day was not turning out very well—she staggered after Laban. He had merely flicked her away like some minor nuisance; a fly that kept buzzing around his ears, swatted.

Already Laban was back in the kitchen, a fluffy object in his hands, half eaten. The demon wasn’t even concerned that the girl had intended to send him back to hell in holy flames, with the help of her misshapen crucifix. In fact, nothing that she did seemed to phase him.
Except…

Elizabeth slammed a warped statue to the ground, letting the heavy stone shatter near her feet in black chunks.
There.
The Amazing Flying Circus's avatar

Eloquent Elocutionist

She muttered something but Laben paid her no mind, already licking the remaining crumbs off of his fingers. Give her time; she would learn. Eventually she would understand the ins and outs of demonry and the lies she's been led to believe by her crazy father, even if a lot of it were true.

Something shattered in her general direction. Why was everything he owned shattering because of this girl!? She was so high maintenance already!

"What are you breaking now?" he sighed, emerging from the kitchen once more. "Destroying my decorations again?" he noticed. "Does that soothe you, Elizabeth Mary?" the sarcasm in his voice was tangible.

"Why don't you go ruin all the things? Then will you be satisfied?" Laban was as irate as he sounded. How dare she... no... this was a reaction to him kidnapping her. She would calm down.

She'd better calm down.
“Yes,” Her hand found its way to another vase, decorated in tightly bound maroon roses and spirals. It crashed to the floor a moment after she swept it past the limits of the small table it sat upon. Elizabeth may have been weak, but porcelain—and apparently wood now—was no match for her anger. “It is very soothing.” Her tone was level, hatred dying her cheeks a deeper hue.
The sound in his voice had been almost irritated.

Perfect, so she would destroy the house then.
The Amazing Flying Circus's avatar

Eloquent Elocutionist

Her response was, to say the least, unexpected. Laban was fond of the vase in question, an odd thing to say the least. Its colors matched his skin perfectly, down to the maroon spirals almost identical to his own. Wait...! Laban mentally screamed, but the vase had already hit the ground.

"It is very soothing." she said, voice cold. Was she intending to prod his anger?

She was doing a good job of it.

As Elizabeth reached for something else (was she going to tip the glass table now!?) Laban could not simply watch. Quick as a flash he had the girl away from his belongings and pressed against the wall, a sandwich between it and his unnaturally warm body. His legs tangled around hers to stop her movement, he gripped her chin and pushed his tongue into her mouth, forceful and intruding. Their jaws rubbed together, noses squished against each others' faces. He licked the inside of her cheek, the roof of her mouth, around her tongue. His fingers around her face ensured that she could not bite him without breaking her skin to get to his fingertips. He nipped at her lips and had his other hand cupped between her legs, effectively grinding her into the wall and violating her at the same time.

In a word: unpleasant. Yesterday he had been gentle with her. Yesterday he was willing to cooperate. Yesterday was gone.

Their noses were still touching when he pulled his mouth from hers to speak, "There are vessels in this house that contain things that you oughtn't be releasing." he warned, "Be wary of that the next time you decide to throw a fit."

He hadn't moved from her. Her chest was compressed against his in a no-doubt uncomfortable (perhaps painful) way. She wouldn't be moving until he let her be.
The collision into the wall snapped her skull back, tugging it to an unnatural slant as her hair caught in ribbons between their shoulders. There hadn’t been time to complain that he was too close, even in her mind. Instead, the searing throb against her mouth ensued, mimicking the oppressive sensation that she had only just experienced the morning before. Except this time, it radiated deeper into her throat as his tongue violated beyond just her lips.
Lungs filled with the fever and her hands went numb, abandoning their position of trying to push him away.

A few inches off the dirtied floor, Elizabeth lingered, pinned between the demon and her prison. He was speaking, so close his lips continued to brush against hers with every syllable.
But what he said escaped her mind. It had already focused on the stench of brimstone, the pressure of his body against hers. With a thrust he could suffocate her, snapping the ribs that already squealed out from the weight. She would die right there, sweltering and broken in the demon’s embrace.

So this was to be her punishment—an ever closer crawl to damnation.
All he would have to do was slide his hands upwards, unfasten the pants he had gifted, and ruin her with a single prod.
Elizabeth was not so naïve.
She knew of the ways of men, of how they could steal an innocence that didn’t belong to them without any real regard.
A demon could only be worse.

Pale eyes glared upwards into the abyss of the demon’s. It was his plan to draw the horror out wasn’t it? Let her scurry about, praying to be left unscathed, only to drag her closer to the hell’s flames without a warning.

It would be the waiting that would undo her.
The Amazing Flying Circus's avatar

Eloquent Elocutionist

Her arms fell helplessly to her side; defeated. She'd given up. She was his.

At least, those were the signals Laban was receiving. He rubbed between her legs; oddly cold in contrast to his skin. The jeans he'd picked hugged her form rather well. His white irises flashed.

The demon stepped back and let her slide down. He hadn't realized that he'd actually lifted her. Perhaps now she wouldn't ruin his nice belongings. The vase was an unfortunate casualty; he may have to try and repair it later - but the statue could go. It had been taking up a lot of unnecessary space anyway.

"Now..." Laban said, voice quiet and soft. "are you hungry?"
A palm went towards the base of her skull, groping where it had stricken the hardest—there would be bruising.
But she didn’t care.

For the moment she was docile, exhausted from the Demon’s molestation. Fear and hatred swallowed her strength, leaving her an empty shell.

There was no more will to fight back, not today at least.

“Yes, I’ll have something.” Elizabeth murmured, following her captor back into the kitchen. She staggered over the broken fragments of the vase and statue, seeing them as a gain against Laban. It had been a battle since arriving, and at the moment, she was rather tired of it.
If he were going to offer a meal, then she would take it— if only to refuel for the next assault against him.

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