- art above is my own -

~ one true love ~

Aytsa didn't know much of what was going on, if he was being completely honest with himself. As much as he wished he could blab on about all of the predictions he could make for the following hours like Kori or Seishin could, he was more feeling as clueless as Draka or Mitzu might. Which, in his eyes, was pretty much the biggest insult he could ever give himself. That was one thing that he hated about himself. As smart as he wished he could be, he'd never surpass Kori or Seishin. Or at least, his lack of self confidence would never allow him to think of himself as on their level.

He wandered around the outskirts of Kutelo in a rather negative mindset, his [Y/n] nowhere to be found, just giving the occasional vampire basic medical attention and occasionally shooting an enemy between the eyes with a poisoned arrow, which at least helped him improve his mood just a little. He could imagine it was one of his housemates that he actually almost missed right now, or he could imagine it was Nyais... again.

He wondered whether Rayne was alive. He would probably be a little sad if the man had died. He recalled Rayne having retreated further into Kutelo before the order for war had been declared, and that made little sense to him. In fact, it had seemed as though he was going to Nyais' quarters, but... well, Nyais wasn't in Kutelo at the time, so his only possible reason for doing so was absent. Unless he was paying a random visit to [Y/n]'s friends?

Ah, yes, [Y/n]'s friends. He was a little sad that they got to stay in the underground fortress. Well, that was until he turned around and watched a giant stony grey dragon fly towards it with parted jaws.

Now Aytsa was watching his home burn to the ground with a grin on his face. At least [Y/n]'s friends were dead, even if his father had died with them. He let out a soft, amused chuckle. That was one less thing for him to worry about. And so, he continued to walk. He wandered past a lake and briefly washed some blood off his hands, before following a small stream that led into the lake up along the side of one of the peaks in the Vihren mountain range. He tasted the crisp air on his tongue, along with the faint flavour of death and burning, which... well, weren't exactly flavours he wasn't used to. It just needed a hint of chemicals and he'd be back in Rayne's lab again, just with fresher and mustier air.

He could feel the way the morning dew was beginning to sit on his skin. What time was it? Seven, eight in the morning? Though Aytsa was not actually very good at telling the time. This was one of his very few times being outside. Small things like birdsong startled him, until he stared at the bird and realised that it was harmless. That was, unless it was a Vihren spy, which was always a possibility. He was sure Vihren had an elf or two.

On reflex, he accidentally shot a falcon with his bow, the screech having made him jump, thinking it could be the call of some winged beast that Vihren may harbour. He watched it fall to the ground and wandered over to it with a huff. It was a small looking thing. Grey feathers, white spotted chest, sharp hooked beak. And gripped within its yellow talons, attached to its leg with a piece of string, was a note. He carefully pulled his arrow from its chest and wiped off the blood, shoving it back in the quiver he wore on his back. Then he took the letter, unfurling it, a frown on his lips.

'Your Majesty the Queen,

I do not know where you are right now, or if it is too late, but I recommend you read this in complete solitude with no others watching. Once you are alone, continue.

Your current supervisor, the King of the Faeries, is a traitor.

I advise you blow the whistle we have stored in your pocket to receive help immediately. Feron will be with you shortly.

Please be safe.'

Aytsa huffed when the letter wasn't signed. He could've had fun slowly murdering the person who thought it was okay to make his [Y/n] have better chances of escape from him. But this was good, very good. If he found [Y/n], Al would surely hand her over, and if he didn't then his people would surely die. Kutelo didn't tolerate traitors after all. And so he made his way towards the heart of Vihren territory, a new aim in mind, all his previous worries instantly being quelled. Find [Y/n].

* * *

He had been walking for three or four hours. The sun was beating down on him now and his pale shoulders were peeling. He shouldn't have worn this shirt today. Though vampires did not turn to dust in the sun like many stories he'd read about them suggested they might, the sun was incredibly uncomfortable for them, and they burned much faster than the average human. He'd have to put salve on that later. He did his best to stay in the shade of trees as he walked, slowly getting closer and closer to the location he believed he would find [Y/n] in. That being, the strange location Rayne had dotted on a map in his lab just before disappearing off to Nyais' quarters.

It didn't take him long to reach said location. When he did, he was more than pleased. There she was, staring wide eyed at him like a cornered rabbit, before taking a deep breath and trying to harden her gaze to a glare. Oh, so confident. She thought the faerie in her pocket was going to save her? He laughed, a soft smile on his face, walking over to the tree stump she was sitting on and perching himself on the floor behind it. There was dappled sunlight falling over the both of them and though Aytsa would much rather not be touched by sunlight at all, this was fine, because he was beside his one true love.

She didn't stand or move, just glanced down at him, confused and fearful. "What?" Aytsa questioned, raising a brow, as though he had every right to be sitting next to her, despite being on enemy territory.

"Aytsa," [Y/n] said quietly, "why are you here?"

"Why wouldn't I be here? You're so silly, [Y/n]," he giggled, tilting his head. That insanity flashed in his green eyes that made [Y/n] pale in fear.

"Y-you... you don't stand a chance here," [Y/n] said quietly. Aytsa took her hands in his, watching her fingers tremble as he did so. He placed a kiss to the back of her hand, if only to terrify her more, before letting one of his teeth briefly scrape against the skin. Not enough to leave a cut though. He didn't want to taste her blood and lose control of his senses.

"Do I not?" he spoke quietly, lips still near her hand, breath fanning against the skin. He could hear her blood rush through her veins. Which emotion was prominent, he wondered... anger or fear? Maybe a strange amalgamation of many different emotions, though he felt that anger and fear were probably the main ones.

"What... A-Aytsa, you're in enemy territory and you're outnumbered," [Y/n] muttered. Aytsa couldn't help but notice that she almost seemed scared for him. That didn't make sense... he hadn't exactly done anything awful to her like Kori or Seishin had. Okay, maybe a couple of instances, and he might've killed her only two supports, but he hadn't hurt her... at least not that badly.

"[Y/n]," he whispered her name with a delicate softness that made her want to run, for she knew Aytsa did not have the capability to make such a sound without an ulterior motive in mind. And she knew what that motive was. "[Y/n]," he repeated, "that faerie... was he in your pocket earlier?" Aytsa questioned. He leaned against her, head resting on her thigh, a smirk on his lips as his eyes closed. He was just proving to her how damn wrong she was.

"A-Al...?" [Y/n] stuttered, her fearfulness only increasing. The sound of her heartbeat slowly growing more erratic was music to his ears. He listened to her feel inside her empty pocket.

"Oh no, he abandoned you without even saying goodbye?" Aytsa smirked, eyes still closed. "What a shame." He figured she either didn't know about the whistle that had been mentioned in the letter he'd found, or Al had discovered it and taken it with him. [Y/n]'s trembling worsened and Aytsa finally stood, opening his eyes. "Do you want to know the truth about him, [Y/n]?"

"The... truth...?"

"Yes, yes, the truth. He worked alongside Kutelo for a while. Gave us information on Vihren's actions. At first it was small things like their basic progression... boring business shit, I zoned out when Rayne talked about it. But as of late, Feron has finally been considering using you as the catalyst for a war. And when he finally got his hands on you, Kutelo was instantly notified by your little faerie friend," Aytsa smirked.

"I see." [Y/n] kept her response as emotionally absent as she could, for she did not want to give Aytsa the satisfaction of watching her fall apart. Aytsa stared at her, expecting her to fall to her knees or cry or do something of the sort, and let out a huff when he only got 'I see' as her response. So, as all mature adults do, he poked her directly in the eye.

"Now you don't," he shrugged, and despite his joking tone, he looked grumpy. [Y/n] held her hand to her sore eye, but hadn't even yelped. Aytsa was growing frustrated. He grabbed her wrist and began to walk, dragging her along behind him. Right now, he didn't know where he was going. He'd take her somewhere secluded, somewhere populated with humans, so the others couldn't find them. Then he'd work out a plan... hopefully with Rayne's help, if the man survived.

* * *

It had been two weeks since Aytsa had been reunited with [Y/n]. After having stayed in a small, run down hotel for a couple of nights on spare cash that Rayne had given Aytsa 'for supplies' ([Y/n] was never made aware of what these 'supplies' might be), Rayne and Aytsa had been reunited, along with an unconscious body in a bag, which had been dragged along with Rayne the whole time. Rayne had given Aytsa a lot of money, how much [Y/n] was unsure, and one of his spare townhouses in the city. Not only that, but he had left the bag and the body with Aytsa. Aytsa seemed to have expected this, so [Y/n] assumed he already knew who it was.

[Y/n] spent her days downstairs, in the basement of the townhouse. If she was well behaved, she would be allowed to roam around the room. It was quite simple, with a washer, drier, a makeshift bed for her to sleep on which was really just a squeaky old mattress. Ah, and a cage in the corner. As well as a chair with metal straps by the feet and arms. So, though her room could sometimes be peaceful, it usually wasn't.

Also in her small basement bedroom was Aytsa's space, which he very much enjoyed using. There was a canvas holder, no canvas attached right now, and some suspicious smelling paint buckets in the back. Aytsa had taken to making a living out of his incredible talent for painting. When he painted for selling, he used ordinary paints, but when he was painting her, he used the strange buckets in the back. All had labels on them, though they were written in that strange vampire language that [Y/n] couldn't read. Not like she didn't know what they were. She was forced to watch each bucket get filled. Save for a few at the back.

The door creaked open and Aytsa stepped into her room, a smile on his face, some flecks of blood on his cheek. He held a deck of cards in his hand, and wandered over to her bed, sitting down next to her. [Y/n] raised a brow.

"You stink of death," she commented. She had quickly learned that 'well behaved' was quite hard to achieve, and there was a technique to it. Act as natural as possible. Don't pander too much, or Aytsa will get paranoid. But don't be cold and distant, or Aytsa will be angry. Act like the girl he knew when she first started looking after them.

"That's because I just killed someone," he chuckled, pulling the cards out of the pack and beginning to shuffle them. [Y/n] took the cards from his hands and he glared at her indignantly, until he realised that his hands were bloody and he was ruining the cards. She wiped the blood off with a frown on her lips.

"You're going to ruin my bedsheets," she looked up at him with a raised brow. He held his hands out in front of him for a second, before a smirk formed on his lips. Holding one out to her, he tilted his head. [Y/n] raised a brow. "What?"

"If you have a problem with bloody bedsheets then lick the blood off yourself," he chuckled. [Y/n] had to keep herself from gagging at the idea.

"No thanks."

Aytsa proceeded to grab one of her pillows and smear the blood on his hands all over it, 'cleaning them off'. He then threw it back, and [Y/n] proceeded to throw the pillow off the bed. Oh well, she could live with just one pillow seeing as he'd ruined that one; two was a luxury anyway. He took the cards from her hands and began shuffling them again, but [Y/n] soon noticed they were all aces of spades. She didn't question his actions.

"How are you feeling?" Aytsa questioned. [Y/n] shrugged.

"A little tired. What were you doing upstairs last night?" she questioned. "You were being awfully loud."

"What did you think I was doing?" he grinned back at her. [Y/n] frowned. Well, she hadn't really been able to tell. She'd just heard a lot of huffing, a lot of possibly angry groaning, and other noises of the sort. Though that smirk caused her unease. Maybe she didn't want to know.

"Uh... whatever. But I couldn't sleep because of whatever it was," she frowned. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, and that was his only response. How odd. Aytsa often did things like this. He had a very childlike way of behaving. Paranoia, temper tantrums, using physical touch when he can't find something else to say, playing games... that was just how his mind worked. "A-anyway, why do you have cards? And why are they all the same?"

Aytsa took a look at the cards, shaking his head. "They're not all the same." He passed one to her, and grabbed her hand, running her thumb over some raised bumps that ran along the card. "See? That clearly says king of hearts."

"But it's... an ace of spades?" [Y/n] questioned. Her brow was raised. Why did it have the correct name written in braille only? Aytsa things.

"You don't know braille?" he questioned, and [Y/n] allowed herself to deadpan him for just a moment, though soon she evened out to a bored and unimpressed expression instead. She wondered how Aytsa could remain so blithe all the time - was he not afraid of everything being torn down in front of him? She, herself, was filled with apathy, for she had little to lose. Maybe a few more human rights, but what's the difference really? Aytsa, however... he had everything at stake. And with his new profession, so public, was he not afraid of the wrong person finding out who or what he is? Why did he have the ability to so happily stroll in with a deck of braille cards?

Though it made sense... he had Rayne for a father. Neither had the capacity to be truly afraid. Neither had the capacity to act normally in any situation.

"What're you thinking about?" Aytsa murmured languidly, staring deep into [Y/n]'s eyes. She got the unnerving feeling that he was trying to psychoanalyse her again. He did that a lot, nowadays. Once again, she thought back to her earlier hypothesis: act neither hostile nor kind. Be honest. He knows when you're lying.

"I'm just wondering why you're not afraid of losing... well, this," she gestured to the basement room they were in, but the gesture was more broad than just their surroundings, and Aytsa clearly understood that [Y/n] also meant his profession, this home, and her as well. He chuckled but shrugged. It was a cheerless chuckle, disturbingly stark and sardonic. Shit, had she said something wrong? She reminded herself that Aytsa's mind games were typical - he was probably just trying to get a reaction out of her.

"Are you suggesting I should be afraid?" Aytsa questioned quizzically, learning forwards a little so their faces were closer together. His breath smelled of metal - the scent was unfamiliar so she knew it was not her own blood that she could detect. As an ex human biologist, Aytsa understood fully that drinking [Y/n]'s blood all the time would cause her to have a plethora of different ailments and disabilities that he really didn't want to force on her. Even if her body was more efficient now, he didn't want to risk breaking her too badly. Even he didn't know whether it was for her sake or his that he was sparing her from such a fate.

[Y/n] glanced away from him, knowing that staring into those inscrutable eyes of his was not going to give her the correct response, and more likely, he'd make her doubt herself into giving him the wrong one. He loved an excuse to be sanguinary.

"No... but," she looked back up at him finally. "Can you really trust Rayne to keep a secret?"

"Of course not," Aytsa laughed. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say, kitten," he teased with a toothy grin. She had to keep herself from gagging at that stupid nickname. Unlike in his youth, she knew that he was now fully aware of the euphemism it held. "But," he continued, leaning back from her a little now, "just because he can't keep a secret, doesn't mean he won't keep my secret."

"If Nyais asks where I am, he's sure as hell going to tell him," [Y/n] instantly contradicted.

"Really?" Aytsa raised a brow. "Because how I see it... Rayne hated you for taking Nyais' attention away from him. So, if Nyais asks where you are, Rayne's way more likely to say I accidentally killed you or something. Then Nyais grieves, eventually moves on, and focuses back on Rayne again. And Rayne gets the wonderful knowledge that you're with me, and probably not happy," he shrugged.

[Y/n] probably should've known an obsessive stalker would understand another obsessive stalker better than an outsider would.

"Do you not want me to be happy?" she questioned, changing the subject. Aytsa pouted.

"That's not a very fair question, [Y/n]," he huffed. "Of course I want you to be happy. I want you to love me. But I know it'll be quite a while before you get to that point. Human brains are sooooo annoying."

[Y/n] just dipped her head at this, about to speak again, when the doorbell rang. A bright grin crossed Aytsa's countenance, previous conversation completely neglected and forgotten. He ruffled [Y/n]'s hair and harshly grabbed her wrist, dragging her over to her cage in the corner and shoving her in it, quickly locking the door. In a flash, he was gone. She made no sounds of complaint. This had already become very normal.

* * *

"Hello, welcome!" Aytsa beamed at the pudgy, purple faced man who stood in his doorway. A client. "Are you... Mr Pierre of the Danesland Museum?" he questioned, tilting his head. The man cleared his throat, straightened out his red tie and nodded his head.

"Ah, yes, that would be me. But you can just call me Francis, and I'm actually here to purchase for my own private collection," he gave an annoyingly fake smile up to Aytsa, who acknowledged the stupid bitch ass name with a smile. Then again, Aytsa thought any human's name that wasn't [Y/n] was a stupid bitch ass name. Especially Damien. What a stupid bitch ass dumb fuck of a name. Disgusting. Though his attention was quickly drawn back to the man, who spoke again.

"I had actually expected you to be, well... older," the man laughed. Aytsa raised a brow.

"Surprise?" he laughed, gesturing for Francis to enter the townhouse, locking the door behind him. He led him to the display room where he kept his best artworks.

"Quite! And you seem so well mannered, too," Francis smiled as Aytsa took his coat and placed it on a hanger. Aytsa 'bashfully' rubbed the back of his neck at the compliment, another soft chuckle leaving his lips.

"Well thank you very much, Francis," he smiled, "ah - would you like anything to drink? I have rose tea, or red wine if you'd prefer to start early?" he joked with an amused expression, though it was 4pm. For many, that was not an early time to start drinking, and judging by this man's pot belly it probably wasn't early for him either. Francis hummed, placing his finger to his lip in a pondering gesture as Aytsa unlocked the thick, metal safe door which led to his display room. He'd had to have said door installed when he began to gain fame. Hiding his real appearance, name, and location simply wasn't enough. Some people managed to find him regardless. Plus... it would be a good place to store [Y/n] if there was ever any threat.

"Red wine sounds excellent," Francis decided, and the room was finally revealed. Aytsa allowed the man to step inside and admire his works. Most of them were painted in black ink - Aytsa did not use colours. He simply painted with the contours of shadow. And the very interesting thing about his paintings, which had got him such recognition, acclaim and infamy so quickly, was how all of them were disgusting depictions of pain and torture.

That was, save for a few, which Francis had not seen advertised on any website or blog about Aytsa's works. These were painted in a muddy red, which was quite easily distinguishable as actual blood - of course that wasn't alarming as you could make the assumption that he had painted with pig's blood. Well... the assumption wasn't wrong, at least to Aytsa.

In these bloody portraits was a naked girl. She seemed the same in each. The same hair length, the same body shape, even the same small markings of scars on her body. And in all of these paintings, she seemed to be posing, but it was unmistakable that she was afraid. Many, she was chained up. As the series went on, her fear grew less, and turned more into irritation.

While Francis had been admiring Aytsa's paintings, mostly the haunting ones of the girl in blood, Aytsa had gone to fetch Francis' wine. He handed the glass to him when he returned and Francis turned to him with an excited gaze.

"How much for this series?" he questioned.

"Oh, those aren't for sale," Aytsa shook his head, his response prompt and final. "I'm glad you like them, though." His voice was shockingly dull to the man, who had been expecting an overjoyed 'how much would you be willing to pay?' in response.

"Not for sale? You can't be serious," Francis laughed. "You could make millions with one of these alone! The audience may be niche but they're willing to pay a lot for this sort of thing." He looked up at Aytsa again, who simply shook his head a second time, not even bothering to speak. There was something scarily imposing about him now, but Francis assumed he was just using a technique to haggle for a higher price. After all, why store them in this room if he didn't plan for people to ask for them?

"How about just this first one?" Francis attempted to negotiate, waving his hand loosely at the most fearful of the lot, where the girl's eyes poked through her dishevelled hair, wide and tearful, and her body hunched around all of her intimacies like a protective shield. Aytsa let out a dry laugh.

"You want me to sell my favourite of the lot? No way," he shook his head. "Francis, I believe I've made my standing on this clear enough, don't you? Only the ink paintings are for sale."

Francis let out a defeated sigh, allowing himself to gaze upon the paintings for a while longer. Then, his brows furrowed, as though some object had just struck him though he had been unable to see it. "May I ask what your inspiration for this series was?" he questioned. Aytsa instantly knew what was happening. How exciting.

"My lover," he responded. Francis nodded slowly.

"Her name?"

"[Y/n] [L/n]," Aytsa chuckled.

"I knew it," he whispered. He hastily reached in his blazer pocket to grab his phone, but his arm was grabbed and pulled behind him so swiftly that Aytsa dislocated his shoulder. He let out a shout of agony, his blood red glass of 1992 Shiraz spilled all over Aytsa's neat white button up. Aytsa didn't usually wear white, but today it would be a canvas of its own.

"You shouldn't have asked so many questions," Aytsa cooed softly, patting the man's head in a condescending manner. "Don't worry. I'll take you to meet her. She'll love a guest."

* * *

[Y/n] had fallen asleep shortly after Aytsa had left her alone, expecting the boy to be gone for a while. Though cold water being thrown over her face roused her from her slumber in an unpleasant way. It reminded her of her stay with Rayne... how disturbing. She rubbed the water out of her eyes, and when she opened them, a wine-stained Aytsa had crouched down with a malevolent grin pulling at his lips. He cast a shadow over her, blocking out the buzzing ceiling light that had been giving her a headache during her stay here.

"Another gnat tried to buy your portraits," he whispered softly, reaching through the bars and running his fingers through [Y/n]'s hair. He had never told her the real reason that he killed people who 'tried to buy her portraits' - that being that they recognised her. He didn't tell her because he knew that said knowledge would bring hope to her feeble little human heart. He most certainly didn't want her to be hoping to get away from him. He viewed her capture similar to the stages of grief, or at least Kübler-Ross' grief cycle. And right now he believed that she was at depression, for she had been in denial, and then she had got angry, and then she had asked all her silly little questions... now, she just played along, helpless. He was so close. He couldn't risk ruining all his hard work.

He glanced back to the man tied to a chair, gagged, but struggling violently, letting out muffled wails of complaint. That certainly wasn't good enough, and it wasn't a very interesting painting either... no, it wouldn't do at all.

"[Y/n]... why don't you tell me how I should get rid of him?" Aytsa whispered, his breath hitching with his excitement at the prospect of killing under [Y/n]'s instruction. But the girl shakily refused, pressing her back against the furthest corner of her cell, and Aytsa let out a sigh. He stood and moved away from her, shaking his head, though he quickly brightened when his eyes landed on his newest victim.

"Well you look like a pig," he laughed, wandering over to him at a leisurely pace, like a predator up to a deer with broken legs. He pressed his finger to the man's nose and pushed it up, giggling to himself as he snorted in a mocking manner. [Y/n] watched from the corner. Aytsa was still nothing more than a child... a terrifying, intelligent child.

He undid the man's bonds and pulled him out of the chair, kicking his shins and pushing him to the floor with a dull smirk. The thud sounded painful. Above the chair was a dangling piece of string hanging from the ceiling. He pulled on it, and down tumbled a set of manacles. They fell to the floor, but another chain fell alongside them to hoist them up with.

Aytsa held the man down by putting his foot on his chest, and attached the manacles to his ankles, kicking the moderately bloodstained chair to the side. Then, in one swift pull of the chain, he hoisted him up so he was dangling upside down. The gag slipped and the man screamed out again, but Aytsa silenced him with a punch to the face, which was hard enough to knock out all his teeth and shatter his jaw. The little white enamel fragments fell down from his mouth and clattered softly on the cold cement. Along with them came the dripping of blood from his mouth. Aytsa pulled his sketchbook from the table beside him and quickly jotted down his face, amused, before turning the paper around to show him.

"You look terrible," he grinned, running his thumb along the man's bloody chin, before smearing that blood on his sketch in the places where blood showed itself on his face.

He glanced back over at [Y/n] and sighed again at her terrified expression. She still didn't cope well with things like this, and that annoyed him as killing people brought him so much joy. Why couldn't she share that? Of course [Y/n] was perfect, there was no doubt about it, but how much more perfect she would be if she just had a bit more... sadism in her.

"Is this where you try and reason with me again?" Aytsa questioned, wandering back over to [Y/n] and sitting himself on the floor beside her, on the other side of the bars of course.

"There's no reasoning with you, Aytsa..." [Y/n] whispered, her voice soft but doleful. Aytsa leaned against the bars and pouted.

"But it's cute when you beg me not to kill them," he whined, and [Y/n]'s eyes hardened at those words. Aytsa seemed to brighten at her glare and stared deep into her eyes, savouring her anger. Oh, how beautiful it was. How much he loved her every emotion. Every last one of those looks on her face was for him and only him. But he'd make sure to treat her later, of course! He understood that humans couldn't cope purely with punishment. Perhaps a cake? Or a new set of clothes... or letting her wander around the house some more? Or maybe all of them? He was feeling incredibly generous today, after all.

"Okay, okay," he hummed, ruffling [Y/n]'s hair. "I know you don't like it but just sit tight, okay? It makes me very happy when you watch me kill my victims. I'll make it up to you later," he promised, and his eyes were strangely genuine, if only for a moment. [Y/n] wasn't just going to sit and nod to that - she hated him, hated what he did - but she remained quiet. She also wasn't going to pretend that Aytsa wasn't being kind right now. As kind as Aytsa could be.

He strolled back up to dangling Francis, Francis the pig, and observed him for a moment before grabbing a meat cleaver, which hung on the wall adjacent to him. He stood behind him, but held the cleaver to just below his collarbone. He didn't want to obscure [Y/n]'s view, and from his position behind the man, he could also watch her try not to gag.

He slowly, deliberately, brought the knife down the man's body. Even through the gag and with his shattered jaw, his scream was bloodcurdling. Aytsa watched tears fall down [Y/n]'s cheeks as she turned her gaze away, but he knew she wouldn't be able to ignore the sounds. The noise of his organs falling out of his body and onto the floor, and of his blood messily sloshing below him to the rhythm of his heartbeat. The groans of pain, which got interrupted by harsh, hacking chokes as his blood filled his airways.

[Y/n] then listened to it all fall silent, save for the dripping of his blood from his body, and Aytsa's slightly ragged, excited breaths. She glanced over at the mess. Aytsa had collected the man's blood in a bucket, and a sieve over that bucket had collected what it could of any organs. Parts of his intestines had spilled out onto the floor however, along with splashes of his blood.

Aytsa removed the bucket and placed the organs in the sieve meticulously, so they were falling out of his body like a waterfall. He then grabbed his canvas, his black ink, and started working.

When he was done [Y/n] knew he'd use the blood in the bucket to paint her, as he always did. For now, she just watched him paint, the man's violent death tearing through her mind over and over and over again.

* * *

As a reward for dealing with Aytsa's antics so well, Aytsa had indeed followed up on his internal promises. [Y/n] was dressed up in new clothes - black leather jeans and a red, skintight jumper. Very typical of Aytsa's more... gothic style. She had of course been allowed a shower before changing, for Aytsa had doused her body in blood before painting her, and she needed to get it off. He hadn't even insisted on watching like he usually did, and [Y/n] was almost worried, but realised he was just 'trying to be nice'.

Now they sat in a luxurious living room, before a television, and [Y/n] watched the news for the first time in a long while. It was in French. Though [Y/n] hadn't remembered moving to France, she'd been knocked out so many times in the early days that it really wasn't a surprise. But, despite the language barrier, Aytsa had even been generous enough to put on subtitles so [Y/n] could actually understand and enjoy what she was watching. Even if it was something as mundane as the news.

"Would you like anything to eat?" Aytsa questioned with a smile. "I bought all sorts of sweet foods for you to try!" he grinned. "Have you ever had a... uh... 'pain ooh chocolate?', or whatever..." [Y/n] assumed Aytsa didn't know the French language itself. He could talk to French people but that was just because of how his body naturally translated, as she believed Ren had told her quite some time ago. He'd also pronounced 'pain' as 'pane' and not 'pan'.

"You mean pain au chocolat?" [Y/n] couldn't help but smile amusedly at Aytsa's slip up, which made the boy very happy. She was so trusting. Did she really think he didn't know how to pronounce pain au chocolat? How cute.

"Yeah yeah, that one, chocolate pastry or whatever," he chuckled. [Y/n] paused but slowly and gently nodded her head. She may as well accept his kindness. He might revoke it if he didn't think she was being grateful.

"I'd love some... thanks," she smiled. Now it was a little more forced, but it was a smile and Aytsa would take it.

Though it was still blatantly obvious that [Y/n] did not want to be playing happy families with Aytsa. He knew that. He wasn't delusional or anything...

He disappeared from the room and [Y/n] let her eyes stray from the news and over to the window. She opened it slightly and tasted the cold air. They were in a city, so it tasted lightly polluted, and she stared through to the apartment buildings on the other side. There was a man in a window staring back, but he just turned away. She then glanced down at the cars moving below. If she could get to a police station then maybe she'd be free...

"[Y/n]?" Aytsa's voice called her name from the door again. He'd got the food quickly, and now he placed the plate on the coffee table. He walked up to her and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. "You still want to leave...?" he whispered against her ear.

"I don't belong here, Aytsa," [Y/n] said quietly. His grip tightened, now a little suffocating.

"Yes you do. You belong here, with me. Anywhere I am, you belong... you belong to me," he muttered. His voice was still low, quiet, dark.

"I... I know," she muttered. She knew saying any more against him would get her hurt. She didn't want to get hurt. Aytsa seemed to relax his hold on her.

"No one will find you, [Y/n]," he said gently. "As much as you stare out of that window and wish they would, no one will ever find you. But that's okay, isn't it? Because you have me. And I love you. I love you so, so much, [Y/n]," he smiled. He shut his eyes and breathed in her scent, his lips resting on her neck. He wouldn't sink his teeth into her while he was rewarding her, but it was terribly tempting.

"I know," she returned quietly. She'd already given up hope.

"Good," he smiled, a small giggle escaping him. "Would you like to try your pastries now?"

"Okay," she nodded, taking a deep breath. "Thank you, Aytsa."

Hi guys! Evie here~ Surprise! I didn't think I'd get another ending done any time soon because of how ill I've become, but today it kinda just... happened ehe For anyone who doesn't already know: recently I developed an incurable illness named PoTS. It's not life threatening but it's life altering. In short, when I stand I faint, my brain is oxygen deprived so I forget literally everything (including who I am sometimes, not fun) and my heart likes to have mental breakdowns lmaoo It's taken a massive toll on not just my physical health but my mental health too, which is why endings might take EVEN LONGER than expected... sorryyyyyy 😭 But thank you so much for sticking with me this long! I really hope you enjoyed this ending <33