A Second Death
The Prince had caught on me, and had clenched down a hand on my shoulder, his sharp fingers piercing through the thin fabric shirt I wore, to press onto my skin. So deep I feared my bones would crush underneath.
My hands instinctively grabbed onto his wrist to retract his pinch, but I failed to do so. The clutch didn't bulge, rather it intensified, forcefully obliging me to impede to the downward pressure.
"Stop!" I cried with a tight grimace.
On hearing me, an instant smirk flooded his lips, and his countenance darkened. "Does it hurt that much?"
He spoke in a tone laced with pleasure. Like a child whom had excitedly chanced upon a basket of blueberries.
He was relishing in my pain!
A wicked glint shaded his eyes as he gawked down at me, many strands of his long bands rolling off to rest on the sides of his face.