splinched

Chapter 2

A/N: Includes brief depictions of torture and non-consensual sexual acts. Though in the limelight there will be multiple updates this week.

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"Bath time Mudblood." 

Would now be the wrong time for her to admit she prefers showers? If only Hotel Death Eater had it in them to accommodate her preference, they honestly should not be expecting any good sort of tip, the service was far from her impeccable experience down in the dungeons. Along with the iron-wrought bracelets they had surprised her with surely enabled a twenty percent gratuity on her part, they did flawlessly enhance her sickly complexion.

The laugh that bubbled out of her was uncontrollable.

There was no shock that came forth when her head met with the ground, the clashing of the stone causing the ringing that previously dissipated to return, or when her tongue began to taste the metallic liquid dripping from the top of her mouth.

"Your kind remains unable to grasp the understanding of submitting to your superiors," he began, hissing in his snake-like manner as he approached her dull form on the ground, "makes for a bloody awful servant."

As he kicked the right edge of her skull, inches from the gash that had formed from her impact, she smiled and directed her gaze and blooded mouth upwards to his animalistic eyes, "Are you offering training Riddle? My professors would say I am a rather quick learner."

The goblin wrought collar that remained fastened to her neck jerked her upwards, forcing her uneasily into a sitting position. Despite her silent protests to appear impassive to the torture, she was receiving, the wince that fell out of her mouth was uncontrollable, the sound itself making her want to recede into her previous position.

A slight, in only a way the Dark Lord could define as a slight, jab to her lower abdomen was the preamble to his following words, "Look at me you filth," he hissed continuing to wandlessly pull at her restraints, continually tightening the longer her silence reigned, "I said look at me!" he screeched in her prevalence of silence.

The frequency of his yelling was almost inhumane, it had to have been as Clare's ears rang so loudly she swore she could feel blood trickling out of them. No matter though, her eyes remained glued to the floor as her strength to piss off this mad man outweighed any will she had to leave. Her mother did say her relentlessness would get her killed someday.

She was prepared for the inevitable torture that was approaching, though the method ignorant to her own mind. He did tend to get creative in that sense, never appearing to follow patterns almost as if he understood that giving her the predictability of what to expect would essentially be giving her the upper hand.

How she wished he was as stupid as she once imagined.

Though what she was utterly unprepared for was the hint of his dry pointer finger lurking under her chin, fundamentally hesitating on whether to touch her disgrace of a person or not.He, being the fucking Dark Lord, obviously chose the latter, never one to let the curiosity kill the cat.

Before her thoughts on the matter could develop any further she was planted back onto her feet, her body struggling to maintain its balance in response to his Locomotor charm. The blood from her gash appeared to be literally, in every sense possible, rushing back towards her brain as she could feel the liquid oozing downwards.

She wondered if it was possible to wandlessly remove the blood from her gash and plant it all over his albino face. Maybe she could just shake her head slightly and her dream would come true. Though she doubted that would do anything further than cause another brain injury, dulling her wits even further.