when he met her, he couldn’t help himself. She was just so innocent, so lovely and utterly sweet, and he couldn’t keep his head on straight. He was overcome with an inexplicable craving to control her and make her dependent, so he did what in his mind was the reasonable solution. He kidnapped her. Now he watches as she rests, peacefully laying under his red comforter, dim yellow light reflecting off her skin. She’s so oblivious. Oblivious to the fact he plans to isolate and break her down until she’s nothing but a mess for him. She’s a wreck already, but he needs more. He needs assurance that she won’t ever breathe a thought of leaving him, because no one can save her like he can. He needs her to need him, so he can breathe properly, as if without her dependence he cannot exist in satisfaction. As he begins to get into bed for the night after he’s done with work for the Decay of Angels, he wraps his arm around her, pulling her back against his chest. The scent of her hair makes him sigh in content.