She’d miss the way his blood colored his blond hair. She’d miss his soft muffled cries. She’d miss the small jerks of his hips that would happen as the potion loosened towards the end of a session. She’d miss the way he looked at her, full of lust and passion and promised violence should he manage to get free. She’d miss the feel of him under her knife, the splash of his blood, the hitch in his breathing.