You could’ve ended up with a worse “captor”, certainly. Many demons would’ve either squished or skewered- outright eaten you- upon capture, but it seems that the arachnoid had no such plans.

Huntsman had known from the start of his pursuit that he’d get little use from you, but his pride was overwhelming and burned white-hot… enough to drive him forward on the hunt.

All because you were a Bitty, which few could claim to have ever seen, much less captured. So Huntsman, upon learning of the old fairy tale of little people who lived in walls and stole what wouldn’t be missed, he set out to capture his own.

The only problem was that the spider hadn’t planned far enough ahead to know what to do once he actually captured you.

So now you say in the rough palm of his lavender hand, wrapped in several layers of webbing but still clinging to the sharp little needle that Huntsman had laid as bait.

“You’re a funny little thing,” he lowly rasps, roughly poking your little stomach. “And not the brightest little morsel around, either. I know your kind steal like crows- all I had to do was put out something shiny enough!”

He pauses for a moment, cutting a few strands of webbing away so you can move with less struggle. Then he goes still and looks down upon you with a quirked eyebrow, each lime-green eye narrowed in judgmental confusion.

“Why did you even want that needle?”