Skulduggery Pleasant Fan-fiction- Love Amongst The Cain (Sequel to The Cradle Of Magic)

Dry Your Eyes.

-Vin

A thin crust of dried blood had formed over the first few layers of my skin, the heat of the wounds fiery and burning against the cold floor to which I had been thrown upon an hour or so before. He had stopped, let me breathe and let my body fix what was broken before he could start up again. A fresh canvas for him to paint on.
My breathing had become laboured, weary, my vision blurred and fragmented in the darkness of the room. My hands and body were sticky with a thick layer of congealed blood, streaks of the substance coating the walls and floors to where I had kicked a struggle during semi consciousness.
The room was so cold, the contrast dominate between my growing fever that wet my neck and back; with tedious sweat and rose to my temples in a thick headache. Thoughts were varied to one or two, limping back and forth in a struggled mix of determination and ultimate exhaustion. Stamina had gone and only the raw thoughts were left.
Left for him and only for him. The hope.
There was an off chance he'd find me, if dead by that time it was wavering towards certain. I smiled, my eyes fluttering peacefully shut once more. If he did find me, would he cradle me? Would he mourn? Would he weep silently over my dead body and let my soul drift to heaven? Would he cry like he did for his wife and child? Draw over his thoughts in the spare hours of the morning? Sob when he thought no-one was looking.
Would he even find me?
I felt my head loll to the cold stone of the wall and sighed a deep and laboured breath. My lungs had most certainly been split, the idea of current respiration unknown to me. The absence of warmth to my neck and shoulder proved beneficial, despite the horror I had found when he crossed my neck with a knife and rapidly hacked off my hair to a ragged cut. He had then tore at my neck with a scalpel, carving to the skin in shapes and forms to which had become lost to my mind due to lack of blood.
My fever was rising high and to some unknown point I was glad to be naked, in this time at least. The temperature of the room was low, cooling, and made it easier in a way. Easier to stay alive, if that was even possible anymore. There were several points where I could have given up, every one I should have taken.
The walls were sticky with my own blood, where I had previously clawed the stone for a way out; a way out of the insanity that I faced. They were marked with bloodied handprints, hot and thick with my own congealed blood.
I whimpered, closing my eyes to the darkness. It was rewarding and I wished it would last eternally; no pain to be felt through death.

There was a noise ahead of myself, an audible creak as light spilled into the room. His shadow paced towards myself, tugging at a loose chain around my neck to push me from unconscious-ness. A pained whimper escaped my broken lips as he knelt and ran a hand over the heavy cuts on my cheeks.
"Dry your eyes, little girl. The pain is just beginning."
He cooed and wrenched hard on the chains, pulling me up to a shaky stance. My knees buckled and I fell to the floor, joints burning and working into a spasm. There was a angered growl in response, a wrench to my arm as he pulled me to my feet and threw me over his shoulder. I cried softly, my leg shaking in a spasm as the rest of my body was raw and pained on touch. Synthetic light hit my eyes and the metal table slapped my skin as I hit it, familiar chains binding my cut hands as he bound me to the wall.
I bit my lip, closing my eyes as my body shook uncontrollably. I waited, waited for so long for something. Nothing came.
A lifted a shaky eyelid, blurred vision meeting me as a welcome. He sat to the edge of the bed, a knife in his hand. He looked to have no intention of using it, playing with it in his fingers. His brow raised slowly, dark eyes flicking to mine as a small grin formed across his face.
"Wanting something, do we? You seem rather eager, Miss Nightshade."
I remained silent, there was no energy to speak anyway. Comebacks were irrelevant when you were tied to a table, lathered in your own blood.
His smirk rose to a malicious smile, his fingers skirting my naked legs as he passed the knife to the edge of the table.
"I hope that you understand now, that I am your master. Make a wrong move and I will punish you over and over. Are we clear?"
I watched him, unable to move. His smile fell and he growled, taking a knife and slicing across my middle. I cried out and clenched my teeth, the wound deep. Beads of my own, tired, blood trickled from the mark and ran down the sides of my body. I whimpered, using all the energy I could muster to nod. He was content, lowering his gaze to stab the knife into the table beside me and picked up another instrument of torture. It was a form of hook, I breathed hard and restrained from shaking. I looked at him, pleading him with my eyes and shaking my head.
His lips pursed, amused, and he let a smile pass his face. He chuckled and set it down on my stomach, the cold metal stinging.
"You don't want to be played with, hm?"
He gave a look of mock confusion and ran his fingers down my torso, growling a fraction. "Don't you like games?"
My breathing increased as his fingers dipped lower, a shudder running up my spine and causing me to cry out. He smirked, chuckling softly and moving his slender fingers away to caress a knife.
"Do I make you shudder, Valiance?"
I watched him as he took a saw to his hand, my eyes widening.
My lips forced a hardly audible 'no' before the pain started once more.
Ten hours of solid pain to wait upon.
He would not come.
He would never come.