Her skin was white—all white—except for the two tiny rosebuds that stuck out from her chest in two beaded tiny nubs. All white but for the black swathe of hair curled into a 'v' at the top her thighs.

Her arms and legs were tied in chains fastened tight somewhere high against the wall. He could see her arms shaking now, the muscles twitching and jumping at his approach. Her wrists were circled in pink and red, an angry-looking, puffed-up color. Two days more, he'd give, before they opened and bled.

Her head sagged. The same riot of curls that fell from her sex fell about her face and up and down her two white shoulders. Curls on top and below- he smiled at the symmetry. He would know them both soon enough.

"Do it."

The order had come from behind. Or maybe above. He couldn't be sure. As one could never be sure in this place. He shrugged his cloak to the side. In the end, he supposed, it didn't much matter either way. He knew his place, and he knew his task.

They'd moved beyond words anyway.