Two: My muse will get down on their knees for your muse
"We have an agreement." The demon smiled wider and stepped forward to trace clawed fingers down Ephraim's face. At the touch, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The fierce expression on his face did nothing to hide the terror coursing through his mind. "Now, do as I say -- or I go back on my side of the bargain."
"You can't--"
But he could. Ephraim was all too aware of what the demon could force him to do, to Eirika, to Lyon, to everyone he'd ever cared for. He couldn't risk that. Nothing that could happen to him was worse than that. The demon's expression showed that he knew well he'd won.
"Now, kneel."
"...Fine."
The claws' grip tightened. Ephraim felt hot blood running down his face. "That's no way to speak to me, pet," he heard in his ear after a painfully toying nip that made his heart race shamefully. "Try again."
"Yes... master." The last word was still a snarl as Ephraim fell first to his knees, then to all fours to grovel, but the foot pushing him harshly down and the laughter ringing through the hall told him that, for the moment, his master was appeased.
((Warning for the Demon King. He needs his own warning))
There was a dress on the coat-stand. A short lilac dress, trimmed with layers of white lace. It had a matching headpiece too, a strip of lilac silk trimmed with even more lace. Lyon knew if he wore that…he really would look like a toy doll! What was that demon thinking?! Lyon turned to stare at the monster-turned human. First spoon-feeding, then being dragged along the floor by his cape…was this the next new form of humiliation? Was he going to be made to accept that he really was a doll?
“Don’t you like your present?” taunted the Demon King. He sat down in large winged armchair and chuckled at the ex-prince on the ground before him, “What an ungrateful doll you are. Those old robes of yours look like they’ve been dragged through several hedges, and knowing where I acquired you my sweet little doll, they probably have. I went out of my way to acquire you something pretty to serve me in. Now you’re going to pay me back for my kind gesture.”
Lyon stared up at him, wide-eyed and frightened. Pay him back? What could that mean?
“Get up and strip for me. I want to see how lovely my doll really is before I dress it up again.”
No…no he couldn’t! The Demon King already knew everything about him, knew every way to make him hurt and cry. He wasn’t going to expose himself to him!
“I said strip,” the Demon King repeated, “Now. Make a show of it as well. Show me how grateful you are that I didn’t leave my poor little prince out there to starve.”
Lyon got to his feet but his hands were clasped in his cape, showing how loathed he was to part with it. He glared at the leering monster-turned-human with tears forming in his eyes. The Demon King loved to humiliate him but he had never asked him to…to expose himself like this! He had never exposed himself like that to anyone before!
“I…I don’t want to..” he gasped, his voice a squeak of terror. The demon’s gaze was gleeful.
“That’s the benefit of a doll,” he laughed, “You can take its clothes on and off whenever you want. You aren’t going to say no to me are you little prince?”
Lyon shook his head fearfully as he saw something dark form in the demon’s hand. He began to tremble and his grip on his cape tightened.
“Well begin then. Don’t keep me waiting.”
Lyon tried to wipe the tears from his eyes using his arms as he undid the tie on his cape. His hands were shaking so much that even untying the knot seemed a challenge. The cape finally fell to the ground in a ripple of fabric and Lyon was left in only his robes. The Demon King had taken his armour from him weeks ago.
“Keep your hands on yourself,” ordered the monster. Lyon nodded hastily. He didn’t want to be hurt. Not when he was so unprotected. Who knew what the demon could make out of that swirling darkness. He had been hurt enough, he couldn’t take anymore!
He undid the fastenings on his robes and slowly slid that off too. His shaking became more evident as the robes too pooled about his feet. He tried to wrap his arms round himself for warmth but the demon had other ideas.
“That’s where your beloved prince stabbed you isn’t it Lyon?” he was looking at the unsightly patch of twisted skin upon Lyon’s chest, “How does it feel, hm? Touch yourself, touch the proof that you lost. It’s the proof that you are nothing but weak.”
Lyon ran his hands over the large scar as his legs shook so much his knees threatened to give way. The ugly mark twinged with every touch and the small sparks of pain made Lyon’s hands jerk. His legs suddenly gave way and he crumpled to the floor.
“Sit if you must, but you haven’t finished yet.” The Demon King got to his feet and walked over to get a closer look. Lyon let out a cry as he felt his head being tugged backwards. The demon had hold of him by the hair
Lyon pulled his boots off and placed them by his cape and robes. Only his leggings remained. He looked up at the demon as if to beseech him for mercy but he received only an expectant smirk in response. He gripped the top of his leggings and tried to look away. The grip on his hair was too strong however. His nakedness only made him cry harder.
Once the pile of clothes on the floor had been completed, the Demon King reached for the purple garment and pulled it on over the prince’s head. Lyon did and said nothing. He felt ruined. Exposed and humiliated like he’d never been before. The Demon King paid no mind to his whimpers and carried him back to the armchair over his shoulder.
“Now that wasn’t too bad was it?” The Demon King adjusted the frilled headband and sat Lyon upon his lap
Lyon merely buried his face in the demon’s chest and sobbed.
Pretty in pink~*~*~~ Because I do need a new doll that loves to dress up for me.
It was itchy and heavy and generally the worst thing Ephraim had ever worn or encountered. There were ribbons in all the wrong places (not that there was a right place for ribbons on his body) and bows just about everywhere else, all in candy-like shades of blue and pink. He bore it with all the dignity he could muster, which was a surprising amount, considering the way the lace-topped socks and fluffy skirt altered his movement.
"I'll kill you," he snarled in the most un-princess-like fashion imaginable, even as his body twirled gracefully and bowed.
The sad little Shaman, tell me how it feels to know everything is once again crumbling under you because of my hand. It's quite entertaining, really. Watching your prince struggle, that king you so despise break yet I just wonder, how much do you enjoy to see the man you hate suffer~?
... Shut your mouth.
Whether I enjoy that man's suffering or not is meaningless, you no longer have control over my liege, that is all what matters.
I cannot begin to imagine how you managed to escape from Rausten. But... I will put an end to you if it comes to it.
He’s drowning. Ephraim is sure he’s drowning. His lungs are on fire but his body is so, so cold. He tries to breathe, but ice fills his chest. Bubbles float up from his mouth, fleeing to the far off surface, long beyond his clouded vision.
He closes his eyes and falls still, feeling the sand beneath him. Maybe this is better. He’ll die this way, and when his body tears itself back up, it’ll die again, again, again. His hands will never hurt anyone. He’ll just keep sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor, time and time again until finally he’s let go, until finally he’s free—
There are hands on his shoulders. Sharp-clawed hands. He thrashes weakly as he’s pulled up, like a fish being slowly reeled in. A face crashes into his own — hot lips breathe life into his cold ones and the underwater world flashes into unnatural vividness. Unthinking, he pushes into it, craving those colors, returning the kiss out of instinct to survive—
He sees a smile before he surfaces, a flash of familiar white teeth. His body collapses on the shore as he screams the saltwater out of it.
Lyon sat there, not daring to move. He inwardly cursed his frantically beating heart, sure that whoever was nearby could hear it. Why? Why had he thought it sensible to intrude onto what was so clearly private property? There was food however, so much food, hanging crimson on the neat little rows of plants ahead of him. They were so close yet still out of reach. If he moved, whoever was walking nearby would surely hear him. If he shifted even the tiniest amount the bush he was concealed in would rustle and surely give him away.
He had no idea who or what type of person it was, walking near the strawberry plants. Perhaps it was a guard. Perhaps a gardener. He could not see them, just the enticing berries through the gap in the brambles. His stomach complained at him loudly and he flinched in fright, brambles scrapping his now cut cheeks, making him bleed. It felt like he had lost the ability to breathe. No! No surely that had given him away! Gods help him!
