It happened a few years ago. She didn't like to think about it. She didn't like remembering it. She was grateful no one ever asked her about it, or talked to her about it. No one had come to her and asked to talk about the obvious dominant scars that was carved deep in her face. It wasn't difficult to see the myriad of questions that were on a person's face each time they looked at her, she could feel their eyes focus solely on the mark and felt them slowly travel over her frame to see the variety of scars raked over her flesh. She hated the looks. She hated looking at herself in the mirror. She couldn't get past seeing them and she couldn't get over the nightmares that terrorized her when she slept. Someone within the mental health field would say that she would need to talk and accept everything and that once she accepted it, then all would be well. However, it seemed no one had any clue that the quiet and meek young woman was harboring so many dark secrets, and maybe...just maybe...it was best nobody poked and prodded.

At a very young and tender age she could not recall when touch was a gentle and acceptable thing. All she could remember was that touch equaled pain. She despised being touched. Hated it. She hated it to no end. Each time she was touched it left not just a physical scar, but a mental one as well. How long had it taken her to be comfortable accepting the touch from others? She flinched constantly away from Tobias when he would touch her at the beginning. How it pained her when she saw the look of confusion and anger in his eyes. It wasn't his fault. He was not bringing her pain nor was he harming her. He was so gentle in his way that it seemed quite impossible to others to believe he was capable of being gentle in the first place.

Raven was terrified, deep down she was so afraid, that one day Tobias would give up on her and go to someone else. Yet over time and patience, so much patience, she finally began to accept his touches, she slowly began to crave them, finding his touch, and his touch alone, acceptable. When his fingers gently twisted around one of her curls she blushed finding it so very endearing. When his calloused hands touched her pale and scarred skin, he did not recoil from feeling her scars, he seemed rather content with touching her more. When he pressed himself against her, she knew he did not wish to harm her, his closer presence a sense of comfort and assured her security. As his lips pressed against her own, or when they trailed down her jaw, her neck, or anywhere else they roamed, she was satisfied. The touch of his teeth pressed into her skin, the nightly ritual of claiming her, sometimes even during the day, she was pleased with these touches that claimed her as his, and his alone. Knowing she belonged, knowing he wanted her, it comforted the girl to no end that she was wanted...that she was loved.

No one would understand. No one in this world would understand how much he meant to her. She didn't deserve him though. Raven felt she didn't deserve such happiness in her life. Not when she killed others, not when she took away their own happiness. She was a murder. She was a creature that was cursed with the ability to be savage and in that savagery she couldn't be controlled. To be locked up like this, to experience pain and fear in what would be her final hours of life, she understood that she deserved it. Fate had been kind to her, to allow her a chance to belong in a pack, to know what it was like to be accepted, and feel love, and know what it was like to be loved. How she wished desperately to be in Tobias' arms, curled up against him, feeling his lips against her own, within her pack's home in the Ark, where they were safe underneath the power of the green-eyed WerePanther. Yet Fate would not allow her desperate wish to be true. She was here, trapped, with a Dark Hunter that seemed to take far too much pleasure in his torturous games, with a man that had nearly killed her.

She didn't mean for him to see a glimpse of her past and a reason the girl was hardly the woman she should have been, if she hadn't been abused or mistreated before. No one can say for certain what she would have been, if she had been nurtured and cared for. Out of all the people in this world, Frost was the very last person she wished to know about her painful secret. He had no right to know. He had no reason to know or have a glimpse of what had happened to her. Now that he knew she couldn't bring herself to look at him. As the Dark Hunter paid more attention to Frost, she closed her eyes as she held back tears. She understood she deserved to die like this, but even so, she was afraid, so terribly afraid to leave behind those that she cared deeply for, and the part of her life that seemed to have been going so very well. She opened her eyes and watched as the Dark Hunter began to cut through Frost's chest, her own frame pressed against the corner of her wall. He had done this to himself she thought. If he would have just been compliant and quiet perhaps he wouldn't have had to suffer. Yet before she could have a shred of sympathy for him, she watched as his own memories began to appear. The image of Frost killing what appeared to be his brothers, how his voice was firm and desperate, why he ever had to kill his own flesh and blood she did not know, but as the fleeting memories slipped away, she threw the WereHorse a sadden look. While the Dark Hunter explained why he despised Frost so much, her eyes widened in shock, surprised to hear that Frost had committed an act that every Were from birth understood, to never do...not unless there was reason and the other wanted it. At least that is what she remembered. She could recall her own parents and those that were teachers of the pack, explaining to everyone that no one was to bite a human, not unless the human knew and accepted the consequences.

While Frost begins to yell at her, demanding she not apologize she looks over at him. Storm-colored eyes watched him, noticing how his wounds were not healing as fast as they should have. That he assumed she had some sort of great power was absolutely laughable. Being feral was not powerful. Being feral was a curse, a curse that only a predator would understand. Only those that were cursed with it, that still attempted to live with it, knew so very well that no one should ever want to live this way. Uncomfortable she curled up tighter in her little corner, her chin laying on top of her knees as she attempted to block the sounds, wishing she would survive and wishing she would finally be taken out of her misery. Though her attention was brought back to the Dark Hunter as he demanded Frost harm her. Anxiously her eyes shifted towards Frost as she began to shake uncontrollably. She knew he was capable of harming her with that dagger. She could not risk harming herself more if she used any of her powers to defend herself. There was no one from her pack here to help keep her safe. As he begins to come closer she lowers her head, uncertain where he would attack or win, shaking as she mentally prepared herself for the attack, trying to fight off the fight stimulus. It is when he yells at the Dark Hunter and throws the dagger at him that she raises her head, her eyes widen as she looked in shock. In her experience if she fought against those that caged her there were severe consequences.

It is when Frost allows himself to shift, the girl puzzled even in her fear, to see that the chains still bound him even in his horse form. As he begins to yank the chains away and smash his hooves against them she looks to her own chains, yanking them gently and noticing that they were not so very tight, but rather loose. As he begins to lower his neck in a snake like position bearing his teeth, she is still eyeing the chains thinking. She could hear Frost's voice slither into her head and she looks up at him for a moment. Her gaunt face holds fear and sadness, but her eyebrows furrow for a moment. She did not like Frost, she hated him to no end. He, out of everyone in her life, least deserved to know what she saw in Tobias. He would never understand, the brute far too egotistical to think that what she sees in Tobias in the way that she does. With a mournful sigh she shakes her head muttering softly.

"You wouldn't understand...and why would I tell you? You wanted me dead."

If he was trying to rile her up it was to no use. She was far too conditioned in the position that she was in. She knew far too well that there was no ability to escape unless the Dark Hunter messed up. Here within this cell they were trapped. The chains were silver, wrapped around her ankles, wrists, and neck. The mention of not being able to use their power without harming themselves in the aftermath wasn't helpful. The Dark Hunter was far too good at keeping his distance from them and making sure they were locked in here tight. There was little to hope for. The Dark Hunter appeared quite unfazed by Frost's tantrum. It appeared he hardly cared that the dagger was aimed for his head and she was surprised to see that he managed to actually stop it without it hurting him. While he shot at Frost, she watched as the male began to return back to his horse form, and that was when a piece of her died inside. So, if she turned into a wolf, she told, would be forced to change back to human, and there goes her natural weapons like her teeth or claws. As the Dark Hunter began to torture Frost, she cringed, her entire body shaking, dreading what was to come next, and wondering if she would be experiencing the same treatment. As he turned on the cattle prod, she flinched when she could feel the electric, watching in horror as Frost was tortured once again. After it was done she watched helplessly as Frost managed to limp over towards her, there was a tinge of sadness in her eyes as she lowered her head, accepting what he would do, as her eyes shut as she tried to remember Tobias face, his voice, anything really, as she tried valiantly to think one last positive thing until Frost ended it. She gasped aloud when she felt the sharp sudden pain in her right leg, her eyes opening in shock as she sees the dagger lodged into her calf, the girl starting to violently twitch, feeling the metal burn. With a soft whimper her hands went to the handle, slowly pulling it out, as Frost spoke aloud his words in reference to her being a pawn. She placed the dagger on the ground, clutching her calf as the blood came out, her inability to heal evident still. Looking back up at Frost as he headed back to his corner, she muttered weakly for him alone to hear.

"I know I am, but sometimes a pawn can be used to win."

She is quiet. She is meek. She is shy. She is weak. She is pathetic. She is nothing. All these traits she is and yet she is so much more. She is loud. She is bold. She can make herself be noticed. She is strong. She estimable. She is something. There is so much that no one knows about her and Frost should be careful, because beneath those sad eyes, underneath all that conditioning, there was a reason why Raven had survived in all that she had endured.

Raven Clocksworth.