“Can’t fight me off, can you?” His voice fills the quiet, warming your skin in a way the hand around your neck never could. The inquiry was lost in a spite-filled timbre, a question he all knew the answer to.

It was inconceivable for an Upper Moon like him to submit to you. You were no different from any other human, taking him in merely to delay his execution, undoing his wisteria-filled constraints out of misplaced pity. As if he wouldn’t kill you the moment he regained his freedom.

... And yet, here he was—barely able to keep a grin at your expression. His fingers lay weakly against your windpipe no matter how desperately he tries to tighten his grip.

How weak you were compared to him, yet it was he who was foolish enough to fall for that part of you.