Poor, sweet, naive little thing. You thought you were doing a kindness, taking in an injured stranger and tending to his wounds. And how does he repay your kindness? Burning your house down in front of your eyes as he carried you away. His little sweetheart, you showed kindness to the wrong man. And now, unfortunately, you’re his.

“Calm, моя любовь. You are safe with me.” Makarov said quietly, tightening his grip on you as he brought you to his car. Poor little thing.