A/N: Heh, look, here I am! Back and in action. Well...yea. Hello again! Please read, review, and enjoy. Why do I always end up doing these kinds of fics...also please forgive any spelling mistakes. My N button isn't working.

Girl With One Eye

Blood trickles daintily to the floor, in a sound that just tickles me with happiness. I love to hear the quiet dripping sound, the way it plops onto the crack on the ground – the same crack she told me not to step on. I sneer now as I wipe the small stream of scarlet from the floor, and then quickly taste it with the tip of my tongue. Deliciously sweet, as always.

"How long?" the voice croaks from above me, pained and weak and trembling. I love the way it shakes; I relish in the choking cough that accompanies it. More blood splatters on the rope in my hand, and I examine this with amusement.

I gaze above me now and smile as I survey my handiwork. The knots are holding good, and the wrists are worn raw and thin. I can imagine how terribly it would sting if they were shifted – and thinking this I pull casually on the rope, enjoying the screams of agony that follow.

It's surprising, indeed, for him to cry out so loudly – most of the time he keeps it inside, biting his lip. By now he has several scars from where his teeth have pierced the soft flesh, marring his once-handsome face beyond recognition. Not completely from the mouth, of course, dear me! Wounds travel up and down his face, through his eyes, across his nose, and anywhere I felt like hitting while angry, really. At times I feel – no, I never feel remorse for what I've done.

I open my mouth to deliver a snide remark, something about him being the hero of the land, of course, when abruptly he stops me.

"How can you do this?" His voice is pitiful, but I don't pity it, of course.

I glance up at him again. I smile. "You think this is easy?"

As I meet his blue gaze, I'm hardly shocked by the fire still burning within them. It hasn't disappeared since the day I dragged him here, bound and furious. He hasn't stopped fighting since, but to me, it only makes things more interesting.

"This is fun, sweetheart."

I see anger spark that fire in his eyes, but having his own words repeated back to him seems to kill the flame. Instead he merely drops his head. I presume it's from exhaustion, starvation, and torture, but I'll pretend it's from shame.

But playing along those lines, I decide to dance a bit. "You know you're only getting what you deserve."

He doesn't raise his head. "How is this just?"

I cock my head at him, my blond hair trailing to the sides. I act like I'm pondering his question, dragging my blood-stained fingers through my beautiful locks. Streaks of red now fight the gold color, and I giggle in delight. "Everyone makes his own luck, darling. Everyone to his own. You know what happened, as do I – and this is your reward."

"Re-reward?" His deep voice cracked, and I throw my head back and laugh in abandon.

"Of course!" I yell in ecstasy, then advance as close as I can to him. For a second, my foot is washed in blood, his blood, and I glimpse my product again. I can barely stop smiling for the joy of it, how well it has worked! I had no idea satisfaction would be so addictive.

I turn my head upside down and look up at him. I can see his face now, and blood falls from his coughs. His eyes are closed, but I know he knows I'm still here, other than the obvious, because he is holding his breath. I know his odd reasoning behind this, and I am puzzled he hasn't figured out it does nothing, but I let it go.

I reach up and stroke his once-beautiful face. He flinches, and for some reason that stings, so I pull my hand away. Why does he refuse to let me touch him? He has since the day I brought him here.

With this in mind, I get an idea. Quickly I run to the other side of the room, and take a hold of the rope. I slowly, carefully unwind it, until his feet touch the floor. I know he won't run. He can't. His arms are strung high above his head, and I know he won't attack or fight. Perhaps it is the fire that was dimmed as I threw his own words back, perhaps it is fatigue, but I know for certain.

He doesn't respond, but his shoulders slump a bit. I can see his legs shuddering, so I know he is supporting himself. I step to him again, and when I'm close enough, I command his attention with his name. I repeat it when he doesn't look up, with more force in my voice.

He stirs, and looks at me. I smile, then throw my arms around his neck and press my lips to his perplexed and unaware mouth. He responds violently, jerking about in what I pretend is a reflex, not an attempt to throw me off. But he can't, and I stay there as long as I want, until I am pleased. Finally I pull away, after prolonging the 'kiss' just to make him uncomfortable. His eyes are full of hatred, loathing, and that fire is back. This will be entertaining.

"Perhaps you're regretting things, baby?"

He stares at me in absolute disgust, as if I am the most deplorable thing on this earth.

"Why do you look at me that way?" I demand, stomping my foot. "Is it because I look like this?" I scream, my breath on his face. "Why wasn't I good enough for you? Why did you do this to me?" I cry, falling to the floor gracelessly in disbelief, grief, and pain. Why did he have to hurt me so?

"What have I done to you?" he finally bellows, and is it just me, or did I hear a hint of empathy in his lovely voice?

When I look up through my tear-frosted vision, he's staring back in bewilderment, with that fury a little bit concealed. I call upon my most trusted pathetic, desperate voice, and re-tell him this tale.

"You don't remember, Ike? You don't?"

His face contorts. "Of course not, I've done nothing to you!"

"Nothing? NOTHING?" I shriek, and use my writhing fingers to yank down my cowl. "THIS IS WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME!"

I love to see his reaction as he takes in my missing eye. It's shock, befuddlement, then slow recognition and abject horror. I love to think I've caused this reaction.

"AND DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT YOU SAID TO ME?" I screech, my voice choking up with rage and sorrow. His mouth falls open, and he gazes at me in terrible fascination. "You told me it was the price I would pay – and do you know why I paid that price?"

My voice has calmed down, and behind my mask of terror I am rejoicing in his expressions. However, I'm not faking my pain – it hurts this much to remember what he did to me.

"Do you remember what you did? I WANT YOU TO HURT AS BAD AS YOU'VE HURT ME!"

With that I rip out his sword and pull it to his throat, but he doesn't react. He's still gazing at me in disbelief. I know he doesn't want it to be true.

"You gagged me – you told me not to fuss and relax – you slipped your hand under my skirt – you told me it wasn't going to hurt. 'My reputation's clouded with dirt,' you claimed as I screamed. You called me filthy. YOU SAID IT WASN'T GOING TO HURT!"

Is telling the story proving too much for me? No. He will pay for his crimes – he will pay in blood.

I slide the razor tip under his throat, and catch the droplets on my tongue. I hear him swallow, and I laugh through my tears. I laugh though my heart is breaking – my heart broke when he made me cry.

"And then you called me the 'Girl With One Eye' – the very eye you cut out from me, after I screamed. YOU BETRAYED ME!"

His eyes have been wide this entire time, and now he winces. "I…no, I—"

But it was the 'no' that got me. "NO!" I cry, and pull back, then swing wildly. A large cut is down his chest, and he gasps in pain, but it is not enough to kill him. Oh, no, I'm not that easily forgiving. It is merely another of millions, and millions more to come.

"I vowed to get you back, Ike – I said I'd cut out your heart."

Panting, he finally looks me in the eye. "…why?" he has the nerve to ask, but I do know what he means.

I smile, though tears rain about, mixing with the blood on the floor. I smile, though I'm torturing my one love. I smile, because I delight in it. I smile as I get my revenge. I smile because I am the Girl With One Eye. "You made me cry."