‟Such a high, don't you feel it? Running through your veins?"
𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇, a patient of dottore's starts to portray symptoms of stockholm syndrome. It didn't take long for Dottore to feel such a rush from the way you obeyed him without a single...
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YOUR FINGERS DIG INTO THE FLESH LAID BEFORE YOU, EYES LOOKED UP UPON YOUR BELOVED. Oh, how you could stare at him all day, your beloved. Your beloved, your beloved, your beloved. A knowledgeable man, quite wealthy too according to your knowledge, with an endless amount of resources — even his own servants, clones you figure, to do as he commands. A strong, wealthy man, is your beloved. He loves you, adores you, and you love him tenfold. For every heart beat in your body, every cardiac movement in the muscular organ, is for him.
You live for him. You breathe for him. Your eyes shine and glisten for him, for he wills it so. He protects you, he even saved you from those wretched people... those oh so evil people. Who were they, again? They were so important just a couple of months ago, back when your beloved despised you. You think they appeared similar to you, spoke similar too. Your beloved spoke it so, that the man has your same jawline and eyes. That the woman with him had your cheekbones and other features. Who were they?
Clearly none of the importance as you can't even be bothered to remember them. Though, they caused so much trouble for you — with him, especially. They attempted to come between you and your beloved, causing your beloved to grow anger ... full of hatred for you. It had to have been hatred, it had to have been hatred. For what else could it have been? What else could it have been when he made you hold the blade, playing God with their lives in the palms of your hands? Months and months ago. Months and months ago it was when you sliced them open, seeing the way they bled for you. The way their blood stained your hands and the tables around you. Months and months ago it was when you heard their curling screams, when you saw the insides of their flesh — the redness of the muscles and the way the veins and arteries pulsated from the intrusion.
Months and months ago, now. It hardly even matters.
His hatred turned into love so very quickly, called you special. And his favorite. You couldn't ever see his eyes but oh, you're sure they were beaming just for you. The very same way that your eyes were the sun for him, shining endless amounts of light onto his form. He deserves the light. He deserves the light, he deserves to be shun upon the way the sun shines on the moon. He is special. He is light, itself, even. For it's always dark when he's away — he must be the light-bringer. Oh, the room goes so terribly dark. Terribly, terribly, terribly dark.
Dark, dark — oh, you hate it! The creatures that patter against every surface which way, without rhyme or reason. The creatures that chitter and patter in your ears at night, preventing you ever from resting. They always went away when he came. Your savior, your beloved. When was the last you slept? Hours? Days? Do you even need it anymore?
"Focus," His voice calls out to you. The very voice you cling to, hoping that he'll call you his favorite in it once more. You've sacrificed so much! You've done so much! You're worthy of the title. Worthy, worthy, why won't he say it?
"Your hands, they're shaking. Excitement or fear?" He questions you. Oh, you can't see him behind that mask but he is grinning. Grinning, yes, he must be. His eyes must be shining too, light follows him. He is light, he must be glowing practically — oh, how you love him.
