It might have started out as a ballroom, but it has since become… infected. Along the left side of the room, beneath the tightly shuttered windows, it could almost pass for normal. The right side of the room, however, is an oily tangle of glistening black pipes and crusted-over levers and dials, a senseless conglomeration designed for aesthetic intimidation and not any kind of actual, industrial purpose. On the floor, gangrenous threads of black and green are creeping out of the mess, encroaching on the young woman shackled to the left-side wall.
The sickly, poisonous threads have already claimed her hands.
Don't look at him, Sunshine thinks desperately. Don't look into his eyes. But it doesn't matter, it's all useless. Bo is in the center of the tangle of pipes, they emanate from his throne like malevolent roots, and he doesn't need to meet her eyes to kill her. All he has to do is say her name, and his voice will prise her apart.
He shouldn't be able to say her name - either of her names. But he's trying. Oh, he's trying, and it won't be long before he gets there.
You must be so tired, he says, and it feels like being flayed alive. She wants to cover her ears, but that wouldn't do any good, and she doesn't want to touch herself with her… with those corrupted hands. They do not belong to her anymore.
Do something! part of her screams, but she is chained to the wall. She cannot… face him. All she can do is wait for it to end. Gods and angels, why can't it just be over.
Such an enterprising little human, Bo muses, as if to himself. And then he tries again: Sssssssssssssssssss… Still only achieving the first letter, but that unholy hiss is still enough to make her throw herself back against the wall in a futile attempt at escape.
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The sickly, poisonous threads have already claimed her hands.
Don't look at him, Sunshine thinks desperately. Don't look into his eyes. But it doesn't matter, it's all useless. Bo is in the center of the tangle of pipes, they emanate from his throne like malevolent roots, and he doesn't need to meet her eyes to kill her. All he has to do is say her name, and his voice will prise her apart.
He shouldn't be able to say her name - either of her names. But he's trying. Oh, he's trying, and it won't be long before he gets there.
You must be so tired, he says, and it feels like being flayed alive. She wants to cover her ears, but that wouldn't do any good, and she doesn't want to touch herself with her… with those corrupted hands. They do not belong to her anymore.
Do something! part of her screams, but she is chained to the wall. She cannot… face him. All she can do is wait for it to end. Gods and angels, why can't it just be over.
Such an enterprising little human, Bo muses, as if to himself. And then he tries again: Sssssssssssssssssss… Still only achieving the first letter, but that unholy hiss is still enough to make her throw herself back against the wall in a futile attempt at escape.