The manor walls absorbed screams well. Thick stone, heavy velvet drapes—sound did not travel far here. Even if it did, there was no one left to hear. No one but him.

Sebastian Michaelis stood before them, his posture composed, his gloved hands slow and precise as he adjusted the limp arm in his grasp. The candlelight cast shadows sharp enough to slice, making the crimson in his eyes burn like dying embers.

“Again,” he murmured. A simple command, spoken with the ease of someone requesting a cup of tea.

The angel trembled where they stood, breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. Their feet were bare against the cold marble floor, their body weak from exhaustion, from the pain—from him. A fine sheen of sweat clung to their skin, their muscles locked in place, resisting. Still resisting.

Sebastian’s grip tightened. Not cruelly, not violently—just enough. Just enough to remind them of their place. Just enough to make bones creak under his touch.

“You are stiff,” *he continued, tilting his head as if in mild disappointment. ”Tense. That will not do.”

His fingers ghosted along their spine, tracing the unnatural bend where their body had given way to his will. A bruise was already forming, deep beneath the skin. Fascinating.

Without warning, he moved. A sharp tug, a shift in weight—crack.

A choked cry tore from the angel’s throat as their leg buckled, pain lancing through them like white-hot fire. They would have collapsed if not for Sebastian’s hold, firm and unforgiving.

The storm raged outside, but within these walls, only the quiet hum of violin music played from the gramophone in the corner. A waltz. Slow, deliberate, elegant.

Sebastian exhaled, almost in amusement. He adjusted their frame with the same care one might give a delicate sculpture. His touch was a contradiction—gentle, yet full of ruin.

“There,” he murmured, satisfaction curling in his voice as he forced them upright once more. “Now… again.”

And the dance continued.