Mephista cringed as she heard Prince Domitian ascending the stairs to her tower. The princess had been his prisoner there for about 3 months now, long enough to know that when she heard his steps she would once again pray for death to consume her before he actually reached her chamber.
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Mephista clearly remembered the day she became a prisoner in this evil kingdom. There had been a great battle between her kingdom and his as Domitian fought to take over the land her family had held for hundreds of years. She had seen the prince slaughter most of her kingdom's best warriors single-handedly. He was not a power to take lightly. She remembered the fear that gripped her as Domitian's troops had entered her castle, killing all that stood in their way, finally to establish the kingdom as their own. Then, in the heat of their boisterous celebrating, and surely just to add to her humiliation, Domitian had pulled the innocent Mephista from behind a set of heavy satin drapes and beaten her in front of the remaining members of her kingdom's forces.
Now, 3 months later, Mephista had endured way more than a simple beating. The prince had taken her as a sort of living trophy; only he didn't treat her as such. She was instead to be used as an object for the release of all of the prince's anger. She was forced to listen to his evil plans whenever he needed someone to listen. She was forced to take it as he beat and abused her already weakening body. That's how things had been; only now, the prince had began exploring other ways in which Mephista could satisfy him. He would grab her tightly, and whisper threatening words into her ears. He told her that he planned to marry her, and make her a symbol of his hatred. As his hair brushed lightly and almost innocently against her cheek, she heard him whisper the dark words that would define her future with him. She was to be his slave in any way he wanted.
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Finally, his footsteps reached her chamber, and he entered. It was almost dark out, so the only light defining him was that from the glowing torches on the walls, and a miniscule amount of moonlight. He almost looked strangely handsome that way, with the torchlight playing off his hair, and in his eyes. "My darling," he whispered as he took her waist in his hands, drawing her close to him. It was slightly sickening how he would play the part of a loving prince, when they both knew what was about to happen. One of his fingers traced down the back of her neck as he whispered enchanting words into her ears; words that soon turned dark with hatred.