Some people mistake silence for submission. They see a beautiful, glowing thing trapped in a cage and assume it has lost its sting. How utterly... predictable.
I offered roses; they offered thorns. I offered mercy; they offered screams. But watching those tears fall? That was the most exquisite thing I have ever witnessed. It turns out, my little angel is far more interesting when they are broken.
Is anyone else finding that true devotion requires a bit of... creative destruction?