An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“I am here with you, my son,” said those gentle tones, and Piett’s entire body clenched in horrified anticipation.
The monster was gentle before it sank its terrible teeth into his flesh, rending his muscle from his bones…
It would remove its mask and there would be that hideous mouth, teeth ready to maul him to death.
He fought his chains, and ended up throwing himself against the bars of the cage.
The cage.
It was all too familiar.
Surely his lungs were going to explode from his exertions as his chest heaved with panic.
Over and over he had faced this, and always the laughter had echoed in the background…
“Firmus.”
“No!” he sobbed, burying his face into his knees.
He knew it was futile. Every time he tried not to look, he was forced to.
A sigh.
Well that was different.
The monster had never sighed before. It had just surged forward, spittle flying from its wide jaws…
He heard rustling.
Robes.
“I will sit here and wait until you are ready to look at me, my son,” said the monster. “But I will never force you. This I promise you, dear one.”
This too was different.
Choice had been stripped from him.
Somewhere in the recesses of his shredded mind and soul, a tiny spark flickered.
No matter how hard he’d tried to kill it himself, he had been unable to.
Hope was a stubborn bastard.
And Piett lifted his head.