Eyes black as the void fixed on the broken figure lying sprawled on the cold stone floor. The hapless Maia was shivering, with occasional whimpers escaping him. Morgoth leaned down, and slowly ran his finger down his lieutenant's throat. A small, satisfied smirk appeared on his face as the Maia jumped in surprise, then screamed in pain from the motion.
A shiver shot though him as Sauron opened glazed eyes; eyes full of confusion and terror and pain. "Ah, Mairon," he said, making his voice as gentle as possible. "Why do you make me do this?" Morgoth expertly hid the sadistic excitement rising in him as he turned the Maia's brilliant mind against itself.
"It's your own fault, you know," he continued. "If you would simply be better, I wouldn't have to do this. I'm doing it for your own good. You need to be punished for your mistakes, or you'll never learn from them. I'm doing it because I want you to be better than you are now. You have wonderful potential. But you can't start making mistakes."
The Dark Lord knew Sauron's own conscious could torture him better than Morgoth ever could. So he laid the seeds for self-blame–self-hate–deep within the Maia's deliciously shattered mind. He ran his hand down his Maia's broken form, enjoying the way Sauron shuddered away from him, before clamping his hand down on the painful looking burn and break combination on the Maia's upper arm. Sauron barely reacted, in too much pain to notice the addition.
"Disincarnate," Morgoth growled, suddenly disappointed. "Disincarnate and get out."
After a few tries the Maia did so. Morgoth's mood improved slightly as he noticed the Maia's broken and distorted aura. He had done that. Gothmog had tortured him physically, true, but the Ainur were creatures of spirit, not flesh. He had been the one to crush Sauron's mental defenses, to invade the deepest recesses of his mind, to violate his innermost self and destroy that last little bit of innocence the Maia had been clinging to. Morgoth closed his eyes and ran his tongue over his lips as he remembered Sauron's agonized shriek as he'd done so.
He idly wondered why no one else had seemed to remember just how young Mairon had been when he'd taken him. Morgoth could still remember how the Maia once had been, so young, so strong, so innocent, just begging to be broken. And the Valar had foolishly let him become isolated, vulnerable. And well, who was Morgoth to ignore such an invitation?
It had taken patience and subtlety, of course, but today he had finally managed to do what he wanted since he had first laid eyes on Mairon. He wondered how long it would take for the Maia to mess up again, and what it would take for him to scream like that once more.
Or perhaps he didn't want him to scream; perhaps he wanted him to whimper, eyes squeezed shut, tears beading those long black lashes and trickling over pale cheeks. Morgoth closed his eyes, all the better to enjoy the fantasy he was creating of his little lieutenant helpless and terrified before him. Oh yes. The next time would be even better than this had been.
I have no idea why I end up channelling Morgoth during finals. I really don't. And for all of those who found this familiar, it's the second chapter of Innocence, simply in Morgoth's POV.