"You are mine," she reminds him, sharply manicured nails gently cupping his face. "I am the only reason they haven't killed you yet. I could burn you to cinders if I wanted to."

"But you haven't," he cuts in, defiant even in chains, even when she could easily dig her nails into his eyes till they burst, coating her hands in sticky blood. "Why?"

In response to this she only laughs darkly.

-

Hours later, she is almost done with her masterpiece. She trails a few more kisses along the pale flesh of his stomach, each one leaving a burnt, blackened imprint that smells like screams of agony. The center of his chest is nothing more than a charred hole, and looking through it she can see dungeon floor, stained red. She holds his heart over the broken body, and tells his dead amber eyes: "I told you you were mine."

She lets it burn very slowly.