“It’s all your fault.”
Kyra’s blood covered him. He tasted blood in his mouth, congealed in his gums where his teeth use to be. Everywhere he looked he saw blood. Even though he was back in the dungeons, all he could see was blood. Kyra’s blood… the boys’ blood…
Ramsay wanted him to break with the guilt. He wouldn’t give in. He moaned, trying to desperately to keep the blame fixed on Kyra. It was her fault, not his. If she had listened to him when he told her they needed to split up, if she hadn’t thrown the rock, if she hadn’t been so scared, if, if, if.
A strangled sob clawed in his throat, choking him. He wanted to release the tension, give in. Kyra had come back for him in spite of how he’d treated her. Kyra came back for him and he’d WATCHED as the hounds tore her apart. He gave in with a shameful whimper, letting the tears flow as he raised his eyes meekly to Ramsay. There was no more defiance in his gaze.
“I… I know,” he admitted as he shuffled over to his master. “It’s my fault. All of it.” He was shaking uncontrollably now, his voice shattering. There was no way out. It was Ramsay’s game and he couldn’t win. “What should I do… to… to pay for it?”
( @ascruelascunning )
