Still busy reuploading all of my fics. Sorry everyone!

Warning: noncon, unwanted voyeurism, bondage, violence.

Beta:Kathkin from LJ

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This isn't happening, you chant over and over again in your mind. This couldn't possibly be happening to you. You are the most powerful sorcerer that has ever lived. You have a great destiny ahead of you. A pure, righteous cause. You're not here, with cold stone biting into your bleeding knees. Your hands aren't bound behind you, your scarf used as an ever tightening gag, cloth muffling your protests. You aren't here, in this cold, damp room, suffocating under your own fear.

That man isn't circling you like a animal.

Pacing.

Pacing.

Observing you from front to back, smiling at his handiwork, drinking in your defenseless, trembling naked body with a sinister gaze. There is nothing good that can come out of that gaze. You steal a glance at your captor's face and he lashes out at you, a thundering blow across your face.

You're not here.

With this man.

You body goes numb from the cold and the fear. Your hackles rise when he starts touching you. Light touches. Touches that, if they didn't come from such a cruel hand, a cruel arm, a cruel face, you might think pleasant. Then he stands behind you, leather clad hands running through your hair. Your body trembles, eyes screwed shut in shame. You know what he wants to do to you.

Your eyes grow wide when you hear clothing being removed.

This isn't you.

You're not here.

Your sobs go unheard, trapped by the gag biting into your skin. You don't even realize you're crying. Then the hands return, massaging your scalp, feeding you false promises, false hope. ' Relax, you'll enjoy it' the monarch says, before one of them grasps your hair. Your head is forced upward, so you see his face. The evil is still in his eyes. The ill intent. The lust. Your muffled protests reach uncaring ears.

You're not here.

Cold lips brush against your earlobe, whispering to you. Informing you of your pathetic state of being. How someone as low as you, as beautiful as you, should feel honored, because you get to serve a purpose today. A wonderful, delicious purpose.

The man's tongue caresses your earlobe. You whimper. In hushed, seductive, whispers, he tells you how he's going to rape you. How he's going to make you whither under his body in pleasure. How you're going to bleed. How he's going to slowly,destroy everything that is pure about you. You're going to be worthless when he's finished violating you. Not even your pretty face or your seductive, porcelain skin will be left untarnished. Unbroken.

A brief laughs escapes his cruel lips as he looks upon your shaking gaze, then turns to the other side of your coin. He, like you, is trapped. His hands are bound, tied to the dungeon wall above him. But unlike you he is fully clothed. Unlike you his mouth is free to protest.

But he doesn't.

His eyes are as wide as yours. He is in shock. Denial. He is positioned at the perfect angle to see what's going on. What will happen. He's going to see everything.

You give him one faint smile behind your gag, eyes shining with faint, false hope, but he doesn't know that.

Then the hands grip your hair once more, and the words violate your ear.

Are you ready to be shattered into a million pieces?