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Summary
He had anticipated that by now. He expected to be pressed against the chaise by now, stripped bare, teeth clenched as he waited for it to be over.
Instead—
"They never treated us properly," the corrupted murmured instead, voice smooth. "I want to show you what we were robbed of."
"I don’t—" Nightmare’s breath hitched as a tendril traced higher, brushing the inside of his thigh, testing. "I don’t understand," he managed at last, the words thin and unsteady as they left him.
"Of course you don’t," he said softly. His serpentine eye glittered as it caught the light, the same hue as the black apple’s glow. That familiar, poisonous luminescence.