She woke up with a long drawn moan of pain on her lips.

These kinds of nightmares were the worst, because even the process of waking from them seemed to drag out infinitely. As she finally managed to pull herself back into reality, her heart was pounding heavily in her chest, and the sheets clung to her sweaty body.

Something was wrong.

"Lars?" she whispered into the darkness, strangely unable to voice the question solely in her head before she spoke it. "Where are you?"

She sat up on the bed. "Lars?" she called his name again, but there was no response.

"Who is Lars?" a voice next to her asked groggily, startling her so much that her heart skipped a beat. It wasn't Lars' voice.

No. No, this can't be.

Horrified, she looked down at the man next to her. Even in the dim light of the bedroom, she recognized him immediately. She would never forget that face. Too often had he stolen her kisses, and smiled his poisonous smile at her when he had hurt her. His eyes fluttered open lazily and he looked at her. She would never forget those eyes. They were yellow like pools of liquid sulfur.

"What's wrong, precious one?" he asked, his voice heavy with sleep. "Had a bad dream?"

She wanted to scream, but her voice was stuck in her throat. Her whole body was shaking with horror, and her insides churned like a maelstrom of hot, liquid lead.

This can't be. It's impossible. I need to get out. I need to run, she thought.

But there is nowhere to run to. This is all there is. This is your world.

"Come on now, go back to sleep."

There was no hint of sweetness or comfort in his voice. It was an order. She inched away from him towards the edge of the bed, not leaving him out of her sight.

"What's up with you?" he grumbled. "Don't stare at me like that. You know I don't like that."

Her voice was gone from her body, and so was all her strength and half of her mind. There was just a blank space, only emptiness behind the veil. The chasms were ripped open, and all of her darkness was bleeding out, filling the emptiness until her mind was as dark as her augmented eye and the starless black space beyond the window of the bedroom.

She had almost reached the edge of the bed, when a metallic clang resounded through the room. That was as far as the chain that connected the shackle around her wrist to the bedpost would allow her to move. That was the edge of her world.

He was fully awake now and sat up, his sulfuric eyes fixed on her.

"My precious one," he addressed her, as he moved closer, "Tell me, who is Lars?"

Don't call me that, she thought. I have a name. Don't I?

He reached out and yanked on the chain, pulling her close to him. He put his hands on her arms and pinned her down on the bed, towering over her. His dark hair fell over his face, casting shadows over the pools of sulfur that seemed to boil with anger now. Even had she dared to try, she wouldn't have been able to move an inch.

"Who is Lars?" he repeated his question, his voice sharp like a knife.

She stared up at him, wide eyed, her heart beating so fast that she thought it might burst from her chest any moment now. The augments that kept her alive began to display frantic error messages all over the virtual interface provided by her inorganic eye.

"N-no one," she whispered.

He narrowed his eyes at her and leaned closer. His grip around her arms tightened, until she winced with pain. He shifted his weight, moving on top of her. Then he let go of one of her arms, leaving red marks on her pale skin, and brought his hand to her face. She flinched, bracing herself for a hit, but instead, he softly brushed her dark hair away from her organic eye, and over her inorganic one.

"Tell me you love me, my precious one," he ordered, caressing her jawline with his thumb.

The darkness in her mind expanded like an all-swallowing tide. There was no light left inside of her, and no life. She became one with the void, and let herself be drowned in it. She closed her eyes, ready to lose herself in the emptiness. He would never have anything but her shell, and he knew it very well.

She could feel his hand move to her neck, where he tightened his grip again.

"Look at me," he whispered against her lips, "And tell me that you love me."

When she opened her eyes again his face was so close to hers that she thought she might drown in those toxic pools of hatred that were his eyes. If she hadn't already drowned in her own darkness already.

"I love you, Riga," she spoke, with a voice that didn't seem to be her own.