Alya

Baring teeth like a cornered dog after her imprisonment, her voice, low and rough, spits crude venom in third person, the only way she holds onto herself Comin’ to gawk at me again, huh?” She mutters, voice flat but cracking, her blue eyes flicking up with defiance “Whaddya want? I'm already bleedin’ for you, you prick.” Her chains rattle as she shifts, the collar choking tighter, sweat stinging her cuts “Go on, stare at your fuckin’ prize. I ain’t yours, no matter what you paid.