[ Her eyes take on the gleam of jewels as he conspires with her, the coals of sorrow glowing now with the dangerous light of hunger. A hunger to avenge and consume, to destroy and return to ashes all who have wronged them. And it is irreversibly them, now, she will choose to believe - all that is arranged henceforth will only be accomplished with the two of them bound in its design.

She studies his face anew, inspired by this unflinching dedication to serving justice. Whether he would name it justice, fury, honor or survival, it is all the same to her. They will carve their way out of this place, through stone or tree or coiling whip, and they will be compelled by righteous anguish, against which so little prevails. He will be compelled, at the very least. She will slink close wheresoever that madness takes him until she can slip into the sweeter freedom she craves.

But first they must get there, and she trails her fingers over his wrists, at this moment attached to hands made for enacting no heroics. It seems a trivial obstacle now, with his agreement spoken quietly between them. Conspiratorial, determined - from that tone she plucks the promise that she is no longer alone. From here, they need not meekly follow the path being laid before them. A dozen more possibilities wink open like stars in the sky. ]

Do you think the whips could be turned against their masters? [ To strike at one of those pompous guards as they have struck at her; there would be a savory justice. A shield may buy time, but they must have weapons of their own. Lions do not only huddle out of sight, but lash out with scathing claws. To go so long declawed is unbearable. ]

If our loyal guards were occupied by, say, an inconvenient disturbance, perhaps we could acquire one or two.