"What you are, I was. What I am, you will be."

Dreamless – that was the only way to describe how she slept. Ashen tresses were plastered across her lovely features, moistened by the sheen of sweat on her pale face. She remained placid in her slumber, almost catatonic, without even the smallest twitch of a finger. For all anyone could tell, she could very well be dead.

Riccardo didn't mind this, however. Her stillness made it easier for him to examine even the subtlest curves of her ample chest. There was almost an artistic manner in the way he admired her, as if she were some sort of statue – in his opinion, like that of the most beautiful goddess, sculpted carefully with utmost precision.

He studied her jaw and beneath, as well – the petite, bird-like bones at her collar. The way her throat seemed to ripple when she occasionally swallowed. Her succulent lips, parted ever so slightly… Riccardo groaned, his voice hushed but longing. His eyes flitted about the dimly-lit chamber. He knew that the old man was still watching him, somehow. That wouldn't do, no, not at all. He'd have to take care of that soon.

His eyes flickered quickly back to his beloved when he heard her whimper softly. She was finally stirring.

"Ah, you're up," he said, a cruel grin straining at his chapped lips. She gasped and bolted upright, cerulean eyes glazed over from disorientation. Confusion blurred her eyes further when she found herself locked up in some kind of glass cage.

"Fiona," he continued, "I've decided you shall give birth to me." There was no point in beating around the bush. Informing her of his plan up front would cause no possible misunderstandings later on.

"Don't worry," he assured her in response to her bewildered expression, "I do not intend to kill you, if you would just lend me your womb."

"What?" Fiona murmured. Her throat had closed up, ruining any chance she had to sound assertive.

"I shall be born again – this time, with your Azoth." Riccardo chuckled darkly at the way her clouded eyes widened. She clapped her sweaty palms to the glass, words of desperation spilling out of her in an incoherent mess.

"No," she pleaded, "no!" This had to be some kind of sick joke. Riccardo couldn't possibly be serious! Sure, he had chased her relentlessly around the mansion, but he only ever fired off his pistol at the air to startle her. It was more like a twisted sort of flirting, she figured. And the way he'd leered at her in the forest, after he'd caught her trying to harvest some wild herbs to soothe Hewie's gunshot wound…

Fiona's racing thoughts came screeching to an abrupt halt, and a shudder echoed throughout her body. She turned her face up to Riccardo. Her eyes were dull and lifeless now, but inquisitive. "Where is Hewie?" Her voice sounded hollow. "Where is my dog?"

Riccardo only smirked triumphantly at her. "That mutt? Ha. He certainly won't be around to rescue you anymore."

Fiona felt her breath catch in her throat. Her palms lowered from the glass, leaving smeared fingerprints on the pane. She brought her shivering hands to rest in her lap, and bowed her head. Tears were beginning to well up in the corners of her eyes. She didn't mind the way they burned.

Riccardo laughed softly, a bit put off by her sudden calmness. He had been expecting an emotional breakdown of sorts – possibly even one of her troublesome panic attacks. He watched her shoulders quake sporadically until he was sure the news had fully anchored itself into her. Satisfied, he turned on his heel and exited the room.

When the door slammed shut behind him, Fiona didn't look up. She didn't even flinch at the thud that reverberated around the shadowy chamber and made the glass quiver. Instead, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

She had only waited to let loose the waterworks so that Riccardo wouldn't hear her.

Little did she know that someone else was listening.