Blank Doll is, well, Blank Doll.

"You presume too much."

He stared at her, face blanched to ashen gray. Something shifted within the silverine recesses of his pupils, a dark rage blossomed as the words cut through the air like a leaden cord across ice.

"Why?" He asked through gritted teeth, spitting the word out. "Why will you whore yourself to them time after time yet me! Me, you refuse even the slightest touch."

She stared back, looking down upon him for she had risen, the high back of the chair was all that stood between them. She was beautiful then even if her skin had turned to white. The woman's eyes shone like blood spilled upon obsidian, the candlelight reflected upon her pupils betraying her calmness for in her eyes too dwelt the beginnings of a storm. It would not do to match their gazes for a moment more and the woman turned away, her unclothed back facing him.

She heard the stifled gasp and the muttered curse, had it been anyone else, she would have laughed. Here, it only hardened her convictions. The man was sick with desire for her, poisoned by the toxic-slickness of lust and all this, she could discern.

How could he not feel thus? The woman was brilliant in her anger. Her auburn hair like a burning pyre frozen in time, the tendrils of crimson fire caught and bound with nothing more than a gilt fillet and an ivory pin. She could feel his eyes upon her nape now, where ribbons curling from her bodice rose and wound once, twice, thrice across her neck before being bound into a bow at the side of her neck. It would be exquisite to wrench it from her throat, to hear the breath come ragged to her when he wrapped his hands around that elongated neck with skin the colour of fresh cream even as the ribbons fell away, trailing at her arms.

"Because, my dear sir, you love me whereas they, do not."

He swallowed, hands trembling even as he smiled at the cruel irony of it all. Oh the woman! How she let herself fall upon her knees night after night for those scums yet deny the one person who would fall upon his knees in careful worship. No, it was just like the woman to let those who would raze the garden trespass and then name the loving guardian trespasser.

She could feel his gaze lower now, inch by torturous inch as he consumed the bared flesh of her back, down to the delicate curve above her buttocks. It made his knees weak, just thinking about pressing the flat of his palm against that expanse of unstained flesh. Truly, it would make up for alot, to see the mark of his palm branded upon the new ivory skin of her back.

She turned around, bearing no longer his unrequited gaze. The swish of silk was nigh audible in the silence that ensued. She could feel the silk moving like water across her hips, the silk splayed across the entire length of her leg even if it left her back entirely bare.

"You trust me don't you? Break that trust, and I am yours."

He shuddered inwardly at her voice. Whiskey could burnish no more another's voice as hers for it was deep yet rich and it struck more than a single chord within the man's body.

"What do I have to do," he whispered. "What must I do before you will play the whore for me?"

She smiled then, though in it was no mirth to be found. Her lips pursed together, those lips thick and well-formed with the valley at its centre defined with nothing more than a touch of carmine to deepen its colour.

"It would depend on your measure of my worth, sir. In gold, or in kind."

His eyes widened, the sharp intake of breath she heard though was it out of pain, hurt or something else, she could not discern. It hurt her inside then, though she did not show it. He might have loved her before, but now, it was a love bound with hurt and she knew, it would not take long before despite set in.

So be it, she thought even as her eyes lay unflinchly upon his, so be it.

"Fifteen thousand, wired to you in the morning," he rasped.

"Done."

He rose, quicker than she had expected and by virtue of his strength for he was young and well made, struck her onto the ground.

"My lady," he whispered even as he tore the bow at her neck away, his lips pressed hard against the flesh it bared, "you will deny me no longer."

She closed her eyes and nodded. It was done. Him, she had broken. Only this time, she felt herself break too.

It was done.

C'est tout.