At last. I turn the key in the heavy lock, enjoy the sound of the tumblers falling dully. Secure, finally. I have her where I wish her to be.
Here in my silent towers, where the walls are so thick even cries of agony or pleading to the uncaring powers are stiffled and muffled. Where the glamour of her voice and her song cannot weave its bewitching thread into the minds of lesser men. There are many years of life left to me, perhaps beyond my own knowledge. When I am done with the work for my lord of the east, then, she is mine.
What a long and unhappy life I can grant her - closed away from sun and stars, shut forever from the feel of the breeze on the soft bloom of her cheeks. Unless she pleases me. Like a dog I will train her, I will become her world. I will be her master, and every pleasure in her life will come from mine own hand. She will lick at my fingers to beg a boon, ever-young eyes turned up to mine, pleading.
I will have her parade her sweetness before me, weeping for her own fall from grace, hoping that she can offer me some pleasure that will assuage my hatred, and I will glory in the futility of her desires.
I will take my race's vengance upon her, two ages of betrayal and servitude, Man to elf, such a debt - repaid in full.
