Divine violence. Violence committed by the closest, the most beloved person has real power. Ramsay did not simply beat you, did not simply enjoy mocking you. He considered it an art — to watch the tender skin of your cheek turn red from a stinging slap, which over time will turn into a bruise. And yet, the man tried not to touch your face, preferring to admire your beauty, not to ruin it. Did he love you? Yes. But in his own, especially perverted and dirty way. Bloody.

"You are delightful." Bolton whispers, sliding his gaze over your figure, clad in a white silk dress. "White suits you. You are like a little innocent lamb."