A/N: The latest installment of cute friendship vibes and warm fuzzies...
Chapter 3 (RAW)
Edian steeled herself, head bowed in contrition. In her bid for absolution/in ...
She eyed the implement. The fraying stitching in the leather looked as worn as she felt. The braided whip easily ripped through the flesh.
Her breathing was rattling and unsteady, her forearm trembled uncontrollably on the tabletop/she rested her agape, cauterized forearm on the tabletop.
"Do you still deserve this?"
"I do"
"Oh? And what is 'deserve' Edian? What constitutes a "crime", really?" He paused, steepling his fingers. "Your regret is better demonstrated to Sir Raizel than to me."
He was a being utterly depraved in his tastes, but rarely his actions. Her eyes strayed to the depictions of anguish, the various contortions of agony embodied by the figures in the reliefs lining the walls of Lukedonia's interrogation chambers.
Oh, F, we both know that's not where I'm going/where I'm going after this. This is simply a demonstration, an apology, a manifestation of sincere regret.
He leaned back in his chair, twirling the pen between his thumb and forefinger and briefly glancing at the ceiling. It appeared that h m/R would need to be cruel to be kind. There was no other alternative. It suited *him* just fine, he supposed. And "sorry" genuinely wasn't enough, in oh so many ways and from every angle he could possibly conceive of. Even for one as kind and forgiving as Raizel, the sting of betrayal was still fresh with him.
"You believe that by suffering you can reverse/erase your crimes/sins/mistakes and all the results."
She shook her head in the negative. "No, Frankenstein, it simply gives me perspective." She stumbled on the final syllables, color draining from her face/countenance ashen, eyes appearing more sunken than ever.
"In my years of self-imposed isolation/solitude, one of my fingernails became infected—the one right here" she indicated her index finger, "I removed it myself, with little more than my fingers and a pair of pliers from an old toolbox in my hardware cabinet, and primitive materials to cauterize and disinfect the site." Her lips twisted into a grim parody of amusement, "Need I elucidate upon " Her voice tapered off.
"Even I was not so [] at the time that I
What a *great* idea. He was astounded that it had not occurred to him earlier.
Her eyes silently tracked his movements as he made his way to
Donning a pair of sterile latex gloves. He reached for the pliers on the tray
First-degree burn wounds were unique in their quality. As relentless and unabating as the flames of Hell itself. With terribly-disguised [], Frankenstein eyed the curvaceous form in front of him writhed and contorted in agony. Clawing at the weathered stone. Her thighs shifted and the already thin and meager fabric was shifted away from her hips, occasionally becoming trapped / and plastered to said skin by the copious amounts of sweat that was clinging to every conceivable
A/N: they're nice enough to help her out with her guilt. it's soooooooo cute.
He realized, too late, that it had been a mistake.
bench keyword
That sentiment, too, had been misplaced. R's [] was glorious enough that he (alone, more than likely) did not have any need or desire for the burden of holding onto F's.
F had done little more than hurt him.