A/N: I would appreciate any feedback about this story and how to improve it. Places I should describe more, places I should describe less...anything, really. Appreciated. :)

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Hatred

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"I hate you. I despise you. I abhor you. Your very presence fills me with loathing. If you remain within my sight for much longer I may put you out of my misery."

She spoke the words completely mechanically. Her tone seemed an odd mixture of a mantra and a speech learned by rote, said without thinking.

He smiled coldly down at her from his seat of stone. "So you have finally learned the value of obedience. Come." He stood up, removing his thick outer robe of dark fur. Now he was attired in a rough tunic and breeches, their only distinctive feature the many golden threads woven through the fabric in a pattern of whorls and stars. His leather-shod feet hit the steps as he descended, making a scraping sound, like pestle on mortar.

She stood straight, her gaze fixed on the lowest step, one below his black boots. Her shoulders were not hunched, nor did her gaze falter, yet she seemed to exude submission. She could not -- or would not -- take any stand. She lifted her eyes to his face, bringing her chin -- instead of her nose -- parallel to the floor.

Her face was the calm after a terrible storm; but each iris was the eye of that tempest, the cloudy gray swirling ominously.

The man met her gaze coolly, and bore his amber icicles into her soul. "Still a raging gale inside. Good," he said indifferently. At the slight twitch of her right eyebrow he added, "Outer submission is all that is important. Inner submission is usually not preferable. It wouldn’t challenge you as much to keep your discipline if you were truly...broken."

Her right eyebrow rejoined her left, and she spoke in the same mantra-like dirge as before. "If you want me, come and claim me."

"I do so now," he replied.

Without any preamble or warning she found herself standing inside a small room of stone, with a fire burning oddly silent in its hearth. A bed with a low wooden frame stood sideways against the opposite wall, but the room was so small that it was only a few paces between the mattress and the hearth.

She was completely naked, her bare skin pale and almost glowing against the sooty, dark room. She stood facing the fire, waiting calmly for him to come.

My fate is inescapable, she thought with what once would have been regret. There is nothing I can do; why should I fight outwardly? Inwardly I will never be aught but myself. He cannot take that away from me no matter what he forces me to do. I may be a slave to his will, but only temporarily. He may take everything from me, but he cannot break me.

Suddenly she sensed a presence and heard laughter behind her. The laughter chilled her through; the very marrow in her bones felt frozen. Her face went even more ashen, and goose bumps covered her entire body. Her expression remained the same. He laughed again.

"Never break you? My dear, why should I break you? Would you not be far more entertaining...unbroken?" His inexplicable candor left her speechless, probably for the best.

She had turned to face him and had clasped her arms about herself from the cold. Now she straightened her limbs and threw her shoulders back and held her head high. She looked down her nose disdainfully at him and walked over to the bed.

I will not give him satisfaction!

Facing away from him she said, "Then take me," and lay down on her back.