for all that her impudence has infuriated him tonight, sherry’s suffering does not satisfy DIO so much as it arouses terrible pleasure. despite his long-festering irritation over her worsening attitude, her arrogance, the audacity with which she dares to conduct herself in his presence, there remains a perverse enjoyment he takes in reminding her of her place, of evoking the kind of fear that would crush her misbegotten spirit ( to think she once impressed him with this foolishness! she is fortunate that in his better moods, she amuses him still ). it is reflected upon the face of 「 THE WORLD 」 , who meets the impotent fury of 「 SILVER CHARIOT 」 with a wry, menacing smirk so much like that of its wielder.
❝ you’re sorry, ❞ he sneers, cold and contemptuous and mocking. ❝ useless words. of course, under threats of death, you’re sorry. ❞
but, be they tears of genuine remorse or merely a gambit to save her life, her begging works insofar as it assuages his wounded ego. sherry lives, for now, despite her best efforts to ensure otherwise. his iron grip relaxes enough to release her from his grasp, and he watches with disdain as his little knight, so proud even in her imprisonment, collapses into a pathetic heap at his feet.
there is something about seeing her entirely bereft of dignity, so completely and utterly humiliated by his hand, that makes his stomach churn with equal parts repulsion and excitement. he realizes now that he was naive to assume he could toy with her indefinitely. perhaps it was inevitable that her endless well of surprises would run dry, and that her plucky bravery, once so endearing, would become a persistent thorn in his side. that his favorite rose, so beautiful and robust in her prime, would wither and die once picked.
and yet, a withering rose is beautiful in itself, is it not?
cruelty for cruelty’s sake compels DIO to grab sherry once more, this time by her throat. he sinks his claws into her skin and lifts her up, using just enough strength to silence those strangled cries. the temptation to drain her dry and silence her permanently remains ever-present. briefly, he considers the merits of crushing her windpipe, or biting off that bitching tongue. the irony would amuse him temporarily, but alas, he knows better now than to give in to his short-sighted impulses.
instead, he kisses her. there is no illusion of tenderness like was feigned last night. no pretense of consideration for their deal, let alone her pleasure. his kiss is cruel, it is hungry, it is razor sharp and painful. you are mine, he growls into the fresh bruises blooming around her mouth; mine, sucking the blood from her brutalized lips. mine to possess, mine to control, mine to devour to my heart's content. he holds her hostage in this torment until he is satisfied, tossing her aside like one of his dead whores.
❝ you wanted this. remember that, sherry, lest i forget my promise. ❞