"You bring me a child. I ask for your biggest, your baddest, your strongest..." his hands slam down on the large desk. It, and everything scattered across the top of it, rattles and shakes. He was a large man though, slapping those ham hocks down on anything would make it tremble. For such a giant of a man, it's especially terrifying how soft his rolling-thunder voice growls, "And you bring me a child."

The child in question, a young girl, sits in a plain wooden chair. Not even half as opulent as the desk. Lacking any cushion. Her expression matches the chair she sits upon. Plain. She wears no emotion, stare vacant. As if the increasingly furious man easily seven times her size, looking at her like he wants to snap her pretty pale neck with the flex of just one meaty hand, does not exist.

Or at least, as if she does not care. In truth... She doesn't.

"Sir, if I may?" The skinny whelp of a smiling snake in the grass stands behind the girl. His hands flutter, settling on her shoulders. Perhaps they squeeze them for comfort. Perhaps they are heavy with the weight of reminder, of what she is and who she belongs to. Perhaps they are meant to keep her from running.

She does not move. Hardly blinks. This man with his unblemished hands squeezing her with a white knuckled grip means as much to her as the chair she sits on. What he wants and what it means are irrelevant.

"Fine." The Beast sitting behind The Desk sits back and watches them from beneath his heavy brows. The Snake releases her with a sigh. And then his breath tickles her ear.

"Dear girl," he croons. It's supposed to be like candy and marshmallows and tooth-achingly-sweet icing. In her ears it sounds sharp. Shards of glass that bleed out the sugar. Behind them she hears the door open. Shuffling footsteps and pathetic whimpering.

"You're going to be a good girl now, aren't you?" His hands squeeze again.

"Please," the feeble, whimpering voice cries behind her. "Please please."

"You're going to kill this bug here, you're going to crush it." There's the sound of flesh meeting flesh. The crying stops abruptly as a body tumbles to the ground. Metal clatters on the ground. A blade, she thinks.

"Why?"

"Because," it hisses out from between his thin, smiling lips. Truly like a snake. "I said so." She is pushed out of her chair. But she does not meet the floor like the child picking itself up behind her. She lands on her feet and turns on her heel.

It's a girl.

She's holding a tiny knife in her trembling hands. It winks and shines in the light. Sharp. Not quite so much as Snake's voice. But close. She's crying and there's a smear of blood on her mouth.

There's an angry man behind the girl. A smear of blood on his knuckles. He's smiling. But it isn't happy. He steps back and away from her until his back leans against the door. She steps forward and around the chair.

The girl's trembling worsens. At one point she lunges forward. Eyes squeezed shut.

And it is foolish.

The girl who had not reacted once acts and sidesteps and trips the child. The girl tumbles to the ground once again, dropping her knife this time, and her calm adversary steps over to kick it away. Crying, she tries to back away but then her hands are kicked out from under her. She's flipped over, and hands lock around her throat.

Weak arms wave and flail. Hands scratch and pull at that which restricts her air flow. Eyes bulge. She starts to panic. She kicks and bucks. She's frantic. She cries. Her mouth flops open and closed in attempts to scream and beg mercy.

But her adversary is calm.

She does not react as the life she holds in her hands begins to weaken. Fade. Nails bite into her arms and face. They mark and sting into her flesh. They are insignificant. She breathes in and out evenly. She blinks only slowly.

Fading.

Fading.

Ever fading.

Arms flop against the floor. Sluggish. Slow. Twitches. Eyes are dimming, dimming.

She dies with a gurgle. But for good measure, the winner snaps her neck. She sits back on the body. Stares at the imprint of her hands. Stands up and goes back to her chair.

There she perches. Staring back at The Beast behind The Desk. He's smiling. And it is a happy smile. A smile that drips with satisfaction. Content.

"What's her name?" He does not speak to her. She does not answer him. The Snake curls his bony fingers around her shoulders again. A grip that bruises.

"Anna."

"And tell me, girl," his beady, dark eyes glitter and gleam with interest as they fondle her visage. "Why did you choke her?"

She says, "I didn't want to get blood on your floor."

This is amusing to Him. This is a magnificent answer. The Beast tells her that He likes her spark. And The Snake tells her, as he leads her away from the room with his hand forever clamped around a shoulder, that she is very powerful.

Unique.

He tells Anna that she will make Him money, and that will make Them happy. Which will be good for her; They will be willing to treat her with kindness. They will reward her.

She understands what this means but she does not. She says nothing. She does not smile for him. But he smiles enough for the both of them.

"This will be your home now," he leads her to a door. Behind it is her prison with perks. A bed. A bathroom. A small kitchen. Everything is gray. "I am your Master."

"The Beast is your Master." His face clears of emotion. But his eyes are heated. He hasn't hit her. He knows she'll hit back. Then he smiles. Again.

"Only because it is convenient for me at this time."

He says it with confidence and she considers it. Eventually she acknowledges this with a slight nod. For the first time, he manages to surprise her. As she breaks from his grip and steps into her gray apartprisonment, he calls to her,

"You may have Our blood, when the time is right."

The door closes. She does not know if it locks automatically or if The Snake locks it himself. It locks with a series of loud clicks and clanks and clunks. And the girl who is Anna thinks to herself, Only when it is convenient for me.