You thrashed, a biting pain pulling you out of your unforeseen slumber. Your thighs felt cold—and bare—and you tried to close them, but alas.

"Look who finally opened her pretty eyes."

You eyes indeed did open—wide and fearful, darting around the room in search of that menacing voice. It was dark and a bitter scent of mold and gunpowder stung your nose.

Your thighs tingled, but a look told you nothing—it was too dark. Perhaps it was late. You didn't know. This room felt like it was six feet under.

You heard footsteps behind you, slow, deliberate, like a cat planning its pounce. Your heart rate climbed with every step, every cell of your body prickling into goosebumps.

You felt both alert and dizzy.

"I can hear your heartbeat," a voice purred from behind, and a stool you were strapped to swiveled to face your company for this night.

Your lips parted but no sound left you. You couldn't speak. And it's not like she did something, oh no—you had done it all yourself, right according to her plan.

"Scared?" her lips tugged into a smirk and a candle in her left hand moved to her right one.

Then she grabbed your thigh. You cried out as sharp heat seared your skin.

"Oh?" she tilted her head owlishly, "Did it hurt?"

She didn't sound sorry.

"I forgot you Pilties are snowflakes."

She shook the candle, and molten droplets struck your stomach.

"Shh, shh, don't cry," a cold hand cupped your cheek when your cries subsided, "It's just wax. You know, bees and flowers..."

She stilled.

"Y'know, when I was little, my mom—" her voice got even hoarser on the last word and she gave you a cryptic smile, "—used to say that kisses can cure anything."

A hand on your thigh tightened its grip.

"She kissed my knee when I fell down the stairs. Then—boom—it worked! It didn't hurt anymore!"

You blinked at her as your eyes grew blurry.

"I can see it's working," she murmured, watching your eyes dilate, "Oh, don't worry, toots, I didn't poison you. It was just a little present of mine—one you haven't had the pleasure of tasting yourself. But I helped you! It wasn't hard to open your mouth."

Your head grew heavy, your pulse slow. You weren't slipping back into unconsciousness, quite the opposite—your mind was clear enough to watch her every move, but your body melted like a candle in her hands.

"I wanted to apologise," she said, her voice turning sweet as she slipped down between your tied legs. "That's what they taught me. If I did something bad, I should apologise."

She looked up at you, eyes narrowed.

"Was I bad to you, toots? Did I hurt you?"

Your breath hitched and you found yourself nodding.

She tutted.

"That won't do."

Her eyes drifted lazily over you before settling at the lowest point of your body. And no, it did not have any cover—she personally took care of it.

"Can't see it," she huffed, shifting the candle. You jumped as hot wax fell onto your skin again.

She bit her lip. Behind the flicker of the light, you saw her pupils widen.

"Again," she whispered.

Another drop, another cry.

"I've always wondered if it would leave a mark."

She licked the scorching droplets away, almost biting them off your skin.

"It won't hurt for long," she promised into your heaving stomach and you felt her lips curl into a grin, "Maybe."