"Crowley! Crowley, please!" Bela's cries echo though the cell she's trapped in. Chained to the wall, her throat is growing dry and hoarse. "Crowley!"
"Yes, Love?" He gives a deep, cruel laugh as he appears in the cell next to her. He brandishes his cold, silver knife in her face, using it to brush a lock of hair out of her eyes. She cringes as the cold metal of the blade grazes her cheek, even though he's not hurting her. Not yet.
"Crowley… You don't want to hurt me… Please..." She rattles her chains, but her wrists are already bruised and bloodied from her numerous attempts at escape. She can't understand why he was doing this to her…. She loved him.
"Who says I don't, Love?" This time, he digs the tip of the knife into her cheek. He watches with a smirk as her blood drips down her face. Oh how pretty she'll be… "the moment I raised you from the furnace was the moment you became my… Bitch."
"And you're doing this for fun, Crowley? Or because one of your hellhounds choked on a femur?" He plunges the knife between the bones in her wrist, then twists. The terrible pain of metal scraping against bone reverberates though her spine, and leaves her writing on the ground.
"No, Sweetheart." He laughs and pulls the blade from her arm with a sickening crack. "I'm doing this because you decided to tell Dean… fucking… Winchester that I'm alive!" He uses his rage to slice her shin open, leaving a large, ragged gash down her leg. She grew too tired to scream, instead, she weeps in silence. "Nice fib, by the way. What happens when the boys run into Balthy, and he has no idea who you fucking are!" he pulls the knife away and holds it near his face, using it as a tool of emphasis in his speech. "Is that protecting your 'good' name, Love? Maybe I should drop by with your body? Hm? Since you want to be so noble. They'll think you a martyr. Of course, you'll be dead…"
"Crowley…" She sobs as blood drips down onto her lips. "Crowley, I'm sorry."
"Now here's what we can do, darling. I'll get feathers in here to heal you, and you live… But… you never leave my sight. You see one of the Winchesters… You shoot them in their blasted faces!"
"Crowley… Crowley, I can't. Please, Crowley."
"No, Darling. No buts. You'll do as I say, because you have one fatal flaw, Abby… You're stupid enough to fall for a demon." He stands up and brushes the dust and pebbles off of his suit. He wipes the blood from the knife off on her shirt, then unlocks her shackles. "Do clean up for bed, Darling. I don't want you bleeding all over the sheets."