He was invigorated when her voice cracked to give a plea out her rounded lips. Her inner was as painfully oppressive as before, but he'd expected it now. Maiden once more, and then never again. He'd known her twice, and that connected them more than she'd ever bind herself to another. How large he felt when he fucked the pride out of her. Perhaps she'd learn to be more obedient now. A shiver through him when she continued to beg, sweetening the session further. The scent of her hair and blood drowned him, and the feel of her hard walls trying again to squeeze the life out of his member - it was all more scrumptious than anything served at their gilded table could hope to be.<br/><br/>Her life moved to rescue her, painting his length and trickling down to anoint the sheets. He laughed, proud, into her ear when his hipbones and her ass was touched by the crimson, too. Truly he was murdering her. He twisted her head by a hold of her now wild hair and put his tongue into her mouth. Not that it could be called a kiss, the way he breathed in his merry thrusting. He drew back to see her resigned expression, and the bridge of spittle between their lips. Not only had she bought her forgiveness with her submission and musical begging, but his mood was high again, too.<br/><br/>He shoved her head away playfully and went back to bouncing her further into the bed. Her sex was well used now, worse than on the tiles, and he sighed long when he squeezed their bodies tight together, head of his cock pressing at the end of her tunnel until he flooded her again. He chuckled with delight and kissed the back of her neck, resting for exactly four breaths before moving, as though meaning to gouge her insides out with the freeing of his weapon, that had worked better in taming her than his blade or the Veil itself.<br/><br/>He grabbed her arm and tossed her toward the board, where she would land sitting, still naked, her head clunking against the ornamented wood. Engel crawled over to her, weapon still dripping with her lying virginal blood. He was hungry for more of her perfect meek. He nodded to the brass pitcher on his overflowing nightstand, to bring her attention to the vial. Full of water. A familiar, likely comforting chill would fill her body. It would bring along a missed sensation of power. Here, have your magic back. He licked his lower lip as he'd crawled close, like a beast, face to hers. Her twice broken innocence was still a perfume in the air, the massacre in color still on the sheets and on the front of his hips. And a hum inside her.<br/><br/>"Now, Bremmington- maiden-no-more, what will you do?" He'd given her the stolen magic, but he seemed confident, so close, and wondered if the lesson he'd taught her cunt would translate to her mind, as well. How unbelievably empowering, if Lyra at full ability would still yield.