Morvius sat once again in his chair, slouched back like a beast satisfied by blood.
His pristine white uniform was no longer white. It smeared with fresh crimson blood. There were streaks of red across his face and chest as well making him look like something feral or a creature that had long since abandoned mercy.
On the cold marble floor beneath him, Agatha lay sprawled and wounded.
Her body was riddled with bruises and cuts and her breath shallow. The enchantment collar still pulsed around her neck.
Her face was pale, bloodied, and filled with pain. One of her eyes was nearly swollen shut. Some of her teeth missing. Her limbs trembling from exhaustion.
But through it all her eyes remained sharp and furious.
Morvius tilted his head as he looked down at her like a scientist examining a subject that refused to die.
