Mine
"Come here, boy," she purred in silky tones, laced with cruelty and sadism. Her bright blue eyes flashed as her demand was ignored. The pitiful mound of tattered skin and battered bones didn't move. A loud, keening wail tore from its throat as with a mere flick of her wrist an invisible knife worked its way slowly down its arm, leaving a long, deep fash in its wake.
The woman's lips twisted into a grin as she gigled, "Oh! You do scream so beautifully!" However, her favorite play thing had no desire to continue entertaining her with his cries. In order to save himself from further punishment, he slowly dragged himself across the room.
His sadistic mistress narrowed her eyes in pleasure as she listened to the singing of the irons fastening the creature's wrists and ankles. Such lovely music they made! Rather like bells...
Clink, clink, clink. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle.
She clapped her hands in a childish expression of glee, a rosy tint in her otherwise pale cheeks. Oh! Such fun, such fun!
At length, the pitiable wretch came to kneel before her, head bowed, dark onyx eyes bright with pain and fear. Isabella's long, boney finger worked its way beneath his chin, tilting his head, darkened by dirt and grime, upward. He felt a piece of stale, hard bred pressed against his lips, a silent command to eat. And he did, taking food from her hand like a starving dog who was too stupid to flee from an abusive mistress.
She crooned cheerily, "Oh, good! You are finally beginning to learn!" She ruffled his coal black hair the way one would ruffle the fur of a favorite pet. Once he finished the meager meal, she cooed sweetly, "And now we can play!" She dragged the very tip of her long, pale nail down his filthy cheek, leaving a long, thin scratch in its wake.
He tried to pull away, but her other hand held his head firmly in place. "Come now," she pouted. "You should know that Bella doesn't need to touch you to hurt you!"
She removed her hand, bringing it down, cutting through the air in a vicious, slashing motion. Her victim cried out in pain as a series of deep, thin scratches appeared across his face, as though she had scratched him instead of the air. Her shrill, sadistic shrieks of laughter filled the room. "Oh, yes! You know how Bella likes it when you scream! Will you scream again for Bella?"
He coplied as she continued to tear into his flesh with her evil, cruel magic. He screamed and wailed until he was too short of breath and too hoarse to continue, and the torture persisted for just as long.
By the time Isabella was satisfied, her prisoner lay curled up in a ball, sticky, dark, crimson liquid forming a sickening puddle around his trembling, whimpering form. She approached the huddled figure, bending over his weakened form, growing blacker each day from an accumulation of dirt and filth. Her long, blonde hair hung in his face as she stroked his dark locks, cooing, "Don't cry, Pet. Bella can fix you. We can't have you bleeding yourself out, now can we?"
She flicked her wrist and the wounds began to close. She certainly didn't plan on killing her favorite toy during their play sessions. He wasn't getting away that easily. Faintly, he heard her whisper in his ear, "I have something for you, Pet." He was dimly aware of a too tight metal ring being fastened about his neck. And with that done, she left him.
He felt terribly alone in the cold, dark cell. But, worse, he felt completely helpless, chained and collared like a filthy mongrel. However, as he focused all the hatred he had in his heart on the sound of her footsteps, he noticed something quite unusual.
Isabella had forgotten to lock the door.
He waited a while, remaining where he was until he was quite sure that she was gone. Then, slowly, as if hardly daring to believe it was true, he crept towards the iron door, pushing it. It creaked and he flinched. When nothing happened, he slunk out, pressing his frail, battered form to the wall.
He could see it.
It tortured his onyx eyes, which had grown so used to the darkness, rendering him temporarily blind, and burned his skin, which had grown so accustomed to the cold dampness of the cell, but he could see and feel it for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The sunlight!
And then there was pain. Awful, nauseating pain. He fell to his knees, bleeding profusely from the soles of his feet. He could barely perceive the added pain of a pattern which he could not distinguish being carved into his forehead.
The last thing he heard before he succumbed to unconsciousness was a harsh, possessive hiss of, "Mine!"
When he awoke later--just how much later he couldn't say--he was fastened to the ceiling of his cell by his wrists. His mistress twisted her lips into a self-satisfied smirk and she held up a mirror for him to look into. To his utter horror, he saw, in neat, little letters, the phrase, "Property of Bella" etched into his forehead.
She explained with bone-chilling simplicity, "Mine."
