He looked at her with contempt, blood running down his fingers, and anger curling in his brow. And she just laughed, not with humor for her heart was filled with nothing; no emotion and definitely not amusement. Her laugh was dry, cold, Restless. Again this man lashed out and tore her flesh with frustration. The only sound heard was the wet smack of the blood splattering over the dank prison walls. He would have killed her by now, but something stopped him; it was her eyes. Her eyes held what seemed to be centuries of experience, of pain. But what he noticed above all was that even though she looked as if she could lose nothing, her eyes are what held her strength and her longing. With a stoic façade that leaked his displeasure, he raked his claw across his lip, tasting her blood. He would break her.