Her eyes traced over him appreciatively for a few moments, before her eyes turned to the whip, and her suspicions about the purpose of the session was confirmed. He did see fear on her face - not shock, but most certainly fear. Crimson Dove knew how to take a whip - better, she suspected, than most Dragon Blooded. "Bringing the wayward Lost Egg to heel" was a popular fantasy out here on the Threshold - she had carried the wrath of Creation's most powerful both before and after her Second Breath, and was exceedingly good at it. But the ability to bear something and to enjoy the prospect of it were two very different things. She would not protest, of course. Her trade was built on moments like this. The men (and women) of the Scarlet Dynasty would reveal their preferences to each other in hushed conversations, discussing the latest Cynis extravagance, or the unfortunate death of a pretty young servant girl. And then one of them would hand him a card, with her name on it, and assure their friend that such things were possible, and suggest a vacation out to the Threshold. She was singular in that regard - most of her cohorts at Eventide had been the second daughters of lesser Patrician families - pretty things, still clean and cultured and possessing all of their teeth, but aware that their only path to advancement now lay between their thighs.<br/><br/>Her voice was still indulgent, but it had changed, from the appreciative admirer to...a compliant captive. "And does my lord," a subtle change of title, "wish begging as well, or simply my tears?" She dragged her eyes up from the whip, and he could see they were wide and frightened. "May I at least see the visage you have so painstakingly created, before it is twisted with pain and streaked with tears?" She nodded weakly to the mirror sitting on a low table.<br/><br/><em>Who is it, you wish to hurt but cannot? Whose body do you ask me to proxy?</em>