A Dark Scene Flush

It needs to be fleshed out and explained, but I've got the main idea out. So there.



It wasn't sure how long it laid there in the growing pool of it's own blood or how long the beating had lasted. Master must have been really angry this time, not judging by the severity of the punishment, but by the strategic manner in which he struck. Each blow more painful and shocking than the last.

The poor creature knew nothing beyond this existence, didn't even know of death or to wish for it because it had endured a mockery of life. It wasn't born. If it had had a mother, she could only be known as science. A blasphemous conglomeration of DNA thrown into a head on collision with man's curiosity.

It must have lost consciousness, because when it awoke, it's wounds were bandaged. But this was part of the cycle, to be a target, then healed, only to be a target once more. It learned never to fight or else the pain was only increased. And thus was it's existence.

Until she came.

She had taken it away from the dankness, had removed the shackles, cleaned and bound it's hurts, but most importantly, she had given it a name, an identity, a gender. He.

She was his goddess. Kindness, gentleness, they weren't words, they were actions that were not pain and he grew accustomed to the not-pain. But hurt was still apart of his life and it wasn't until it befell his goddess, that he became aware that he could administer as well as take it. He became aware of his sheer size, and her dwarfed form in comparison. He knew his strength was colossal and hers fragile.

He knew those who had harmed her would never touch her again, just as she would never wake again. After that, nothing really mattered.