You stare at your reflection in the mirror, watching as he approaches you from behind, a thin silver chain held in his hands. He lifts your hair and deftly fastens the necklace, fingers brushing against the back of your neck as he does so. You shiver involuntarily and he smiles, pointing to the jeweled pendant that hangs from it.

"Do you like it?" he asks, and you stare at the black-red crystal dangling between your collarbones.

Another day, another jewel, another useless trinket to dress you up in. Another way to prove that you're his. Diamond tiaras in your hair, chokers and necklaces around your neck, bracelets clinking whenever you move your arms, rings that sparkle whenever you move your hands. Rubies at your earlobes, enchanted gems woven in your hair; he dresses you up so much with jewelery that you feel ten pounds heavier by the time he's done.

He likes pretty things, and you're just another pretty thing in his collection.

Piles and piles of clothing in your closet, all given to you by him, of course. Satin and silk, taffeta and lace, only the finest would do for him, none of the cheap things like polyester and spandex. Fancy gowns, cocktail dresses, itty bitty things that barely cover you up. Complete with all the accessories, kid gloves and bonnets and shawls, shoes of every kind imaginable. All made by the best tailors, with bills that came equaled the economy of some smaller countries.

But why bother to argue when he wouldn't listen?

You ask why he dresses you like a child, and he says it's to let your innocence shine through. You ask why he dresses you in adults' clothing and he says it's to make you look seductive. When you ask why, yet again, he says it's because you're a child, and children don't need to dress like painted whores to look seductive, all they need to do is dress like adults.

But he does things to you that shouldn't be done to a child. Dresses you up in pretty clothing just so that he can rip it all off. Traces a finger down your forehead, along each eyebrow and your long long lashes. Dots the tip of your nose, brings his finger along your lips, down the hollow of your throat, along your collarbones. Down your rips, between your breasts, making little circles around your belly button. His hands take over as he reaches your hips, down the outside of your legs and then up the inside again, flicking this time a different set of lips, slowly, teasingly, until you feel you can't take it a moment longer. Waits until you beg and then finally take over...

Paints you up with lipstick and kohl, red and black, blood and darkness, roses and shadows. Makes you shiver all over with just a touch, as much as you hate that weakness, as much as you try to control it. Pours champagne and chocolate down your throat, knows you love the cocoa that coats it and hates the liquid that makes you dizzy and lightheaded. Bends forward and licks the melted chocolate from your fingers, scrutinizing you from under lowered lashes, as you stare at the blue veins bulging from your arm and the slow movements his mouth makes. Watches you with starfire blue eyes when you try and resist, try and escape, holds you in place when you turn to leave, white arms laced with scars wrapping around your body. Settle back because by then you're too weak to leave, too caught up in his web of fabrications to leave...

Because he has complete and total control of you.

Plays with your hair, twirls it around his finger, teases out the tangles and piles it on your head. Lets it drop again and tries something new. Today you play the innocent in a long white nightgown, twin braids resting on each shoulder, a copper cross held in your hands. He watches you from across the room, as you keep your head lowered, shivering from anticipation, from the moment that you know will come...

And it does.

Sweeps you off your feet, braids swinging and blocking your vision, dumps you on the bed, inhale the scent of clean-smelling cotten sheets, takes the nightgown and rips it over your head, frees your hair as you shiver from the sudden change in temperature, takes you and does things to you that you never imagined were possible. Feels so wrong but you can't tell him to stop, much too caught up in the hypnosis of his actions.

Takes you outside in the dead of night, sits you on the roof, watching the moonlight bathe your skin, smirking as you shiver. Spins you around until you're so dizzy that you're sure you'll fall, cling to him to keep your balance but he pushes you away. Your eyes burning with tears that won't fall, tears that you won't let fall, tears that you won't give him the satisfaction of seeing. They show up anyway, dancing on your eyelashes, and you turn your head so that he won't see.

He sees, just as he sees everything else you try to hide, and wordlessly takes you in his arms, lies you down on the roof, and does things that make you smile helplessly, crying out into the night, until all you see is starlight behind your closed lids.

Shadows come to hug you when you do let your sorrow fall, and he promises with a glance that he'll protect you from the things that make you cry. Though you can't help but wonder how he plans to protect you from himself.

Wraithlike beauty, angelic grace, there is something about the way he holds himself that just makes you unable to take your eyes away from him, something about the way he touches you that makes you melt into his arms...

"Do you like it?" he asks again, spidery white hands poised at your throat, and you know that he can kill you in an instant, and that he knows that you know. This time, you answer, though you know it doesn't matter whether you answer or not, his actions will be the same no matter what you say.

"Yes," you reply, and he tears away your clothing until you're wearing nothing but that necklace, smirks into the mirror and turns to look at you. Challenges you with a glance of his blue eyes, a challenge you'll choose not to take, and he knows it.

Another day, another jewel. You would like to speculate more, but all thoughts fly out of your head as he once again begins his caresses.

End.