I know that you're shitty and you're bad for me ;

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Following her, interaction with the dark man, Nesta did her best to try to find time away from him. It was only a few days since her first and only encounter with someone else stuck here. She longed to meet someone else, anyone, really. Anyone who would take pity on her. Nesta knew she looked pitiful now, small frame littered with wounds and her pale fur stained red. A hollowness had settled in her eyes, the former flames now snuffed.

Papa had always told her to learn to pick her battles, but the stubbornness that burned within her refused to believe him. There was always a chance she could win, she'd tell him. But now she knew better than to think such childish thoughts.

What truly struck fear into Nesta's mind was that he had left her with no choice. Either become his whore wife or his secret whore. Both options left her at his mercy, and while Nesta never wanted this for herself, she knew she had to play this right. If she wanted to survive, Nesta would have to obey this man. A man whose name she didn't even know.

"Everything fucking hurts now." Nesta muttered as she hid herself away within the ruins, the crumbling stone walls a comfort she didn't even know she needed. She had curled up in one of the dilapidated rooms, but her nose wrinkled at the dank smell of the place. She looked over the wounds that littered her body, some still trickling droplets of blood. Others had already begun to scab over. If only she could see just how badly she was injured.

Though her body craved rest, her mind wouldn't stop imagining her escape. She'd be free, roaming the nearby forest without a care in the world. She'd hunt, swim in the sea, sleep where she wanted. Hell, maybe even find a way home. All she needed to do was find a way to get rid of the collar Nesta now wore around her neck.

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@Malric is now welcome in all of Nesta's threads <3

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Ruins?

Orso's nose wrinkled. He didn't trust the crumbling rock and the musky scent of mold and moss. Not that he was against moss. No, in fact, the springy stuff made for a great bed, especially when lined with feathers. Particularly swan feathers, but, at this point, Orso would've settled for duck feathers. Divines, he would've settled for pigeon feathers.

Oh well.

Curiosity killed the cat, right?

Against his gut instinct, because who the hell listened to gut instinct anyways, Orso took careful steps into the strange structure. He'd been guided through tombs, through ancient remnants before, but this place was unfamiliar to him. This was a landmark, but not one that he could use to grasp at his location. Where in the nine realms was he?

He wandered, steps silent, and drifted about the empty, crumbling place with wraithlike eeriness. If this place and its stretching shadows were intent on being foreboding, he'd join the stone itself and pair the cold aura with haunted strides. His eyes swung from side to side as he moved further and further.

Orso smelled blood before he even entered the hallway. 

Metallic. Ah, there was something familiar. He halted, tipping his head up slightly as he peered down the hallway. As if the fates deemed him worthy of more information, a muttered voice drifted from an entryway just down the hall. Orso wasn't close enough to catch the contents, but whoever was bleeding was very much alive.

For now.

Easing into a quiet walk, he approached the doorway, stepping over a few fallen stones with care. With a soft exhale, he rounded the corner and entered into the room without an ounce of hesitation. 

Orso had seen plenty of injuries. Orso had seen death. Orso had been witness to countless horrors, but there was always a soft, stupid part of him that felt a flicker of empathy when he saw a woman in distress. The divines knew his mother hadn't given him a heart, so why was he inclined to care for more than a few seconds? The girl curled in a small ball was someone he didn't know, but she was, undeniably, injured. 

"Little dove," he cooed out softly, concern wrought upon his features as he stepped further into the room. Orso took care not to scatter pebbles about with his cautious steps. "Oo-o-oh, sweet thing... Who clipped your wings?" His hazel eyes dashed back and forth as he examined the cuts injuries he could see from this far off.

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