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The master of the house seems to think that our little plaything is his. He'll kill her if he keeps pushing her, forcing her beyond her breaking point. But then again, he wants her broken, shattered into fragile little pieces he can add to his collection.

Seeing how he treats her makes me snarl, my fangs bared and my claws cutting into my plinth like a feral animal. He always has liked ruining his toys, pulling them apart piece by piece before losing interest. When he was a child, I watched him, recognizing the danger that lurked behind his dark eyes.

Sax always hopes that one of them will be different, but they never are. The entire bloodline is tainted.

The Clifton family has always been power hungry and depraved. Each generation raised children more entitled, more cruel, and more vile than the last. They hide in plain sight, pretending to be benevolent Lords and Ladies, serving their country, the people beneath them, but it is all a facade.

These walls have seen bloodshed and pain. The tears of the desperate and the hopeless. Trapped screams of those who never stepped foot off the property again. There's darkness here, and this godforsaken family feeds it like a household pet.

She's different from the others because his obsession runs deeper, all the way to his core. His rotten, black core. We watch, catching glimpses through the windows, powerless as he carries her back to her room. Lecherous hands glued to her skin as he greedily takes what he can get while she's no longer present, only an empty shell.

But this is the only way he can have her, claim her, bind her to him. Arianwen is a fighter, beneath the haze of whatever he feeds her, she's a warrior. I can sense it.

He won't be able to imprison her inside her own mind forever, and we'll be ready for it.

Ready for him.