He tears his eyes upward, focusing on the witch before him. She’s lovely in a broken way, tears streaming down her face, but she loves it. She craves the degradation he offers, abjected in a way that calls to the deepest depravity in his soul, as he lashes cut after cut to her body with a flick of his wand. When he trails his fingertips over her splayed body, driving his fingers into their ruined flesh, he revels in the tremors he beckons forth, the gooseflesh that spreads over her skin. She’s his... for now. Until he grows bored.