He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, that she’d be a good girl and do as he told her, no questions asked. But it seemed the more he asked of her, the more… hesitant she became. He’d chosen her in large part due to her incredible gift, but also because she seemed mindless and empty, just waiting for someone to mold her and give her purpose, to put her to good use. Now that she’d glimpsed who he really was, what he was capable of, the ugliness behind the pristine exterior, there was no going back — for either of them. When he spoke, there was still a lilt to his voice, some pretense of kindness and civility that was undercut by his actual words. ❝ Miss Baker, I trust you to understand by now the ramifications of saying no to someone like me, ❞ Oliver started slowly, evenly, his lips curled up into a menacing smile, almost reminiscent of his other form. ❝ I don’t need to venture into detail about everyone you care for, do I? But perhaps just one — a sister, maybe? Or shall I describe to you the ways in which I would slowly and agonizingly kill Miss Pratt? ❞ It would be a regrettable loss, no doubt, but he’d always preferred the youngest Pratt anyway. The others lacked his easily pliable vision. ❝ I can’t quite decide if I would snatch that pendant from her cold, dead skin, let her scream in the sun for mercy. Or if I would fashion a lovely little stake and inch it through her heart as you were made to watch, helpless. On the contrary, you could be so much more than that if you just do exactly what I say, Miss Baker. Then you’ll never be helpless again. ❞ / @brittiism.
