It should have been salvation for him when Greta's lips broke the possible pretend and said the title Iris had chosen for him, and kept because he'd not corrected her. He should have stopped, hearing that and feeling the tension around him when he sampled her, the kind of squeeze of someone pristine, that is forced to give way. All she was, was flattery. Wasn't just carnality enough? He needn't indulge into darkness. During his violence, he could feel her changes to accommodate. What a beautiful, starved thing her body became, peacocking with this theatre of despair to fuel him.<br/><br/>Blinded by his amusement when the girl that had worn a suit waved and twitched in her death, he could not remember the parts of him that would have found this kind of recreation abominable. His hips did not slow, as though the stabbing was for her demise, too, along with the pretty, digging belt. It was infuriating to see her mixed up with Greta. Do you want this or do you hate it? It was a massage for his sore conscience, but also let him play with the ultimate evil. It must be the kind of monster he was, then. His hips tried to have that victory in her, to see and feel her vault while succumbing, but it was also sweet when she stopped moving just shy of her rapture, like a lava hair mermaid caught in possessive black kelp, still, at the mercy of whoever found her, forever with her last, fleeing expression.<br/><br/>He mourned his soul, but treated it to excuses too, unwinding her from the black crosses and circles that had strung her out to her conclusion was a quiet sermon. Why did he stay inside her for all of it? Was it to keep her in place? Her belly was so... comforting. He petted the new petals with a finger once she was free.<br/><br/>The bathwater roiled when she sat in the lavish glass tub. He'd of course made changes to his home to be able to receive her properly. He hadn't been afraid, carrying his abused toy inside, but he thought he owed her some tenderness, and had kept the water clean from soaps, what could perfumes do to a flower, and even let a drop of his blood swim with her. He was sitting with a glass plate where the news of the world was flitting by in brilliant hues when he was reached by the thick splash announcing her return.<br/><br/>Kedrick, one eye shut for the wet assault, put the plate down and looked her over, arms on the edge of the tub. Greta, still. It was Greta that he'd thwarted. "Maybe next time." he comforted and cupped water to pour it over her shoulder. He was satisfied, so far. What a strange novelty, to live all the things he wanted and have none of the revenges. He licked his lips of her water. He thought of his sister, and how she would have hated him for this. An vivid, invasive image forced itself into his inner vision and he sucked in a shrill take of air and shook his head. Not Naella. As though to strain their blood connection, he sat back and scooted a few paces before standing, so his hormones wouldn't tell on him. It was a useless endeavor.<br/><br/>"You're doing well today." he said. Easier to distract, perhaps. "But... I won't be using you like that again." Despite owning the world with land he'd purchased and credits he'd stacked, that lie was the riches thing he'd ever possessed. "Please put those things inside you away. We should just be friends. Perhaps you can do some work around the house." he suggested. Denial is a great part of monetary success. He was a performer too, for her sake, but his were false, and she of course knew it with their link. He simply must keep that old dream from her head. Greta was enough, she must know Naella. "Maybe you can stay out of my way for a while." he muttered.