Early dawn came, the first light of the new day - day eight - whispering over the tops of trees and heralding life. Flowers began to open, extending their petals wide, stalks of grass drew upright, like soldiers, and the various early morning merchants - bakers, deliverers and the like - began to shuffle in the streets. Vitruvion steered them at this point towards the emptier parts of the city - the outskirts - and Stare let him, thoughts riddling her mind.

The fact he had quite literally plucked a bolt from the air that she could not stop. The fact he had made his primary concern her health. The fact he had forgotten the food.

But hunger wasn't her priority. He life was. And Stare kept running over and over in her mind over what had actually happened, why it had happened, what good it had brought her. Her life was - what? Hers? Or was it his? What did she want now? How much freedom was he willing to give her now that he owned her body and mind? She knew she had to be adamant in her thoughts of non intimacy right from the beginning.

Vitruvion was ahead by a few paces. Currently he was angling down a street where the buildings had no doors or windows. Instead empty lintels held buildings that had either never been completed, or had all their glass stolen. Through them was emptiness, and Stare thought of the cage she was in, and the bars she would begin to construct for herself.

She sighed. “I … I need to speak,” she said quietly, her voice barely steady with the thousands of emotions wrecking her body.

For a long time now they had been walking in silence, the steady breeze of the afternoon all the sound they needed, and so her voice was a riot in the peace. The god drew to a halt, back as rigid as it had been when they had begun this walk, back when the dawnlight had been darkness. Stare slowed with him, her heart thumping in her small chest like it would break free any seconds and cause havoc, ricocheting through the streets and back to the ten or so guards who outwith hearing distance, but ultimately followed them.

“Vitruvion?” she said determinedly.

He did not turn. He simply acknowledged her. “Yes.”

It was an invitation if there ever was one. The kenku swallowed, her eyes following the waves of his pure white hair and the build of his person. They studied how he was perfectly pieced together, what divine magics had made him, and the proud way that he held himself. Still held himself, after all that he had been through, all he had done.

“Vitruvion, I want you listen,” Stare kept gazing at the back of the man whom she now knew had deeper feelings for her than he would ever confess. Than he wanted to admit. That she wanted him to admit.

He did not move. Instead he remained as statuesque as he had been, upright and strong. Baring his back to whatever words were to come from her mouth.

“Vitruvion, you ruined my life,” she told him. “You stole everything from me. My freedom, my virginity, my future, all of my dreams. You had me kidnapped, you abused and raped me like I was one other worthless mortal to be despised. One other being who you had to misuse, all because you thought that was your right. Your purpose. You took me from what little home I had, changed my name and identity, enslaved me - actually made me belong to you with no preset conditions. You stole the freedom of my mind, took my mortality, made me yours in every respect.”

Her voice was hot, full of anger and burning. Her eyes blazed into the back of him, and if he was not immune to her abilities he would be screaming, huddling on the floor, worse than the man at the pub - because right now she was willing it.

Instead, though, he remained still, a frozen form that was listening but not reacting to her bitter words. Not that she would see anyway.

“I should hate you. With every fibre of my being I should despise and want you dead. Even though you're the son of the being who created my race, I should utterly be disgusted whenever I am in your presence. I should be far away by now, have run a long time ago and never looked back, I should have-”

“Stare!” he interjected, whispering in a low, haunting voice. Immediately she broke off, sucking in her breath and glaring at his back. Slowly, he began to move, his shoulders lifting up and down as he exhaled a great sigh. “Stare … I … I cannot let you go. Yes, you should have run from me, a being who did all those things to you, but I cannot let you go. The very core of my being forbids it, letting you be elsewhere that is not under my protection, letting you stray somewhere that someone else could harm you, I cannot let that happen, for …”

For he could not bare to see her go. He could see her hate him, spit at him, not want him near her but he could not see her die. To not have her was to be with death, and he was a god. Immortal, potentially invulnerable, responsible for everything he claimed protection over and she was it for him. The centre of his divine concentration.