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One evening, as they sat by the pond in the garden watching the moon rise over the forest. Vice asked, "Do you still want to leave?"

Her heart skipped a beat as she met his gaze, the question hanging heavy in the air. "I want to be with Alice," she said finally, her voice firm despite the tremble in her chest. "I have to. Alice needs me and I need her."

He nodded, his expression inscrutable. "I understand." They remained in silence, the only sound the gentle lapping of the water against the edge of the pond. Above them, the stars twinkled, a stark reminder of the vast world outside the castle walls that she hadn't seen in what felt like an eternity.

The next day, Ivy found herself in the library again. The shelves towered over her, filled with books that had witnessed countless tales of love and loss, triumph and despair. She needed something, anything, that could help her understand the man who held her captive, who had become so entwined with herthoughts. Her eyes scanned the titles, her fingertips dancing over the leather-bound spines.

Her breath caught when she stumbled upon the book titled "Turtles." It was out of place. As she pulled it from the shelf, the dust fell causing her to sneeze and drop the book. It landed with a thud. As she went to pick it up, she saw a heartbreaking message written on the inside cover. "Happy 4th Birthday to our son Eric." The date etched into the paper was his birthday. 05/13/81. That was tomorrow.

Her heart ached for the little boy who had never got to experience his childhood. This book, this simple declaration of love, was a window into a world that had been ripped away from him. It was a poignant reminder of the humanity he had been denied.

That night, as Vice lay next to her in bed, she reached out to trace the line of his jaw beneath his mask. "What was you're favorite thing to do when you were little?" she asked, her voice a gentle whisper in the dark.

He stiffened, his eyes snapping open, pupils dilating as if jolted awake from a deep slumber. The muscles in his jaw tightened, a tic she'd noticed appeared whenever he was caught off guard. "What?" he asked, the word clipped, almost accusatory. "Before all of this," she clarified, gesturing vaguely around the dimly lit room, encompassing the weight of their current circumstances. "Before the fighting, the fear, the… everything. What did you enjoy doing? What made you happy?"

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze distant, as if rewinding through years of buried memories. Finally, he answered, his voice gruff, roughened by disuse and hardship. "I liked to draw."

"What did you like to draw?" she pressed gently, sensing a vulnerability beneath his hardened exterior. She leaned closer, eager to grasp any semblance of the man he once was.

"Turtles mostly," he said, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. He seemed to be picturing something only he could see, his expression almost wistful.

Her heart skipped a beat. It was such an unexpected, innocent answer. "Why turtles?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"They're strong, and they have a shell to keep them safe." His words hung heavy in the air, resonating with a deeper meaning. She knew he was speaking about more than just the reptiles. He was talking about protection, about yearning for a security. The shell was a metaphor for innocence, for a carefree existence shielded from the harsh realities of the world.

"You miss that, don't you?" she asked, her voice soft with empathy. "The simplicity of childhood. The feeling of being safe."

"I don't miss much of anything," he said, his voice flat and deliberately devoid of emotion. But she heard the lie in his tone, the subtle tremor that betrayed the truth hidden beneath the surface. The line of his jaw was even tighter now, a visible sign of the internal battle he was waging.

"Liar," she said quickly, a playful challenge that belied the seriousness of the moment. Her eyes met his, holding his gaze, refusing to let him retreat behind his carefully constructed walls. She saw a flicker of something in his eyes – a hint of longing, a ghost of the boy who loved turtles and the safety they represented. She knew, with a certainty that warmed her heart,that somewhere deep inside, that boy was still there, waiting to be found.

Ivy crawled on top of him straddling him. Vice felt the warmth of her hands on his cheeks, her thumbs rubbing his face. "You don't have to be so closed off with me." She said sweetly.

Her eyes searched his, and she knew she had hit a nerve. She had seen his vulnerable side, the one he kept hidden beneath the layers of anger and pain. And she wanted to know more, to understand him beyond.

Without another word, she leaned down and kissed him, her lips soft and gentle. It was a kiss filled with hope, with the promise of a connection that transcended their roles as captor and captive. For a moment, he resisted, his body tense beneath hers, but then he melted into her, his arms wrapping around her waist as he deepened the kiss.

Ivy felt a shiver run down her spine as she tasted his desperation, his yearning for something more than the cold embrace of power and control. Her heart swelled with a strange mix of pity and affection. She knew she couldn't save him, but she could offer him a reprieve from his torment, if only for a short while.

Her hands slid down from his face to his neck, her fingertips brushing against the taut muscles of his chest. She felt his pulse quicken, a silent plea for her touch. Slowly, she worked her hands down his chest, feeling the scars that crisscrossed his chest, each one a story of pain and betrayal.

"You've suffered so much," she murmured, her voice filled with compassion. "Let me in, Vice"

Her gentle touch was a stark contrast to the brutal world they inhabited, a world where trust was a luxury few could afford. His heart raced, torn between the need to keep her at bay and the desperate hope that she could bring him something he hadn't felt since he was a child—true human connection. He swallowed hard, his jaw clenched.

Vice's eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of deceit, but all he saw was earnestness. He knew he was playing with fire, letting her get this close, but the flames were intoxicating. He craved the warmth she offered, even if it meant being burned. His hand slid up her back, pulling her closer, as he deepened the kiss. Her taste was like a drug, something he hadn't even realized he had been craving.

As they broke apart, both panting heavily, Ivy leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes." Would you miss me if I was gone," she whispered, her voice a gentle caress in the silence of the room. "Or would you just find another toy to play with."

Vice's grip on her waist tightened almost painfully, his thumbs digging into her skin. "You're not a toy," he growled, his voice low and fierce. "You never have been." Her eyes searched his, looking for a hint of truth in his words. "Prove it," she whispered, her voice a challenge. "Show me that there's more to you than just a monster seeking revenge."

Vice's chest tightened, and for a moment, he considered pushing her away. But then, something in her gaze softened, and he felt the weight of her question sinking into his soul. With a sigh, he rolled them over, pinning her beneath him. His grip on her wrists was firm but gentle, his eyes never leaving hers as he leaned down to kiss her again. This time, it was a kiss filled with a desperation she hadn't seen before, a silent plea for understanding.

Ivy's body responded instinctively, arching into his touch. His kiss was demanding, yet tender, a silent declaration of his own vulnerability. Her hands found their way to the mask that had become a symbol of his power and fear. She began to lift it, and he stilled, his breath catching in his throat.

For a heart-wrenching moment, she held the mask just above his face, their eyes locked. "Let me see you," she breathed. "Please."

"No," he snapped, his grip on her wrists tightening as he pushed himself off her. The sudden shift from tenderness to anger sent a chill through Ivy's body. She sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist as she watched him retreat to the edge of the bed, his shoulders heaving with each ragged breath.