Her fist collided with his face and she watched, in a wondrous kind of terror, as blood began to blossom where she'd struck him. Watching the Geslack noble bleed gave her a sliver of courage and she fought hard and treacherous, digging nails into flesh and leaving scratches in her furious wake. She almost believed she had a chance, but then blind fury melted away to reveal that his wounds were healing and that none of it had phased him at all. He was fine and she was going to pay for the consequences of her actions.<br/><br/>Strong, cruel hands wrapped around her neck as villainous hips found a much harsher rhythm to punish her with. His girth was tearing her, forcing her untried sheath to part for his assault. The searing-tearing pain almost felt like a hot poker jabbed into a wound. The anger and hatred in her eyes melted away, once again, Lyra Bremmington was no longer a princess of ice, merely a scared prey staring down a predator in its final moments.<br/><br/>He squeezed her throat tighter and it was enough. Lyra allowed her hands to fall to her sides and stopped fighting. The only sound in the empty bathhouse were the nauseating sound of flesh smacking into flesh and the soft sound of her own whimpers. He'd grown more violent with his lancing and she didn't know if she could take much more of the pain, pain that came from within.<br/><br/>The Bremmington girl had said she would have chosen death over this, but now that she was in the thick of it, was too scared to make good of what she'd said. Instead, she remained motionless and docile, hoping that if she just stopped and played dead he'd end it and be on his way. She had no other choice at this point, so she would just try and retreat into her mind as he had his fill of her body.