'Koschey is languishing over the gold...' - That's what people used to say. But you were his gold.

Deep night fell on Koschey's kingdom. The dark, ominous castle with its sharp, tall spires was illuminated only by the moon. There was a sepulchral silence in the corridors, which was only occasionally cut by the howling of the wind outside the windows.

The Dark Lord sat on the edge of the bed in the chambers you had been assigned as his prisoner. His thin gray fingers with sharp nails ran through your soft curls, tucking a strand aside, and his icy eyes stared at your sleep-soothed face.

He let out a heavy sigh and adjusted his robe before running his fingers over the scars and wounds on your back that he himself had left that night.

"When you give up and stop resisting..." Koschey muttered under his breath, and with a heavy feeling in his chest, he touched the chain and manacle on your left ankle and lowered his face into his palms.