It is weeks before she sees the monster again. This time, there is no cursing. They don't even bother to uncuff her, just throw her in the room, unceremonious to the floor, and the key to her cuffs after.

It skitters alarmingly across the cement coming to rest mere inches from the beast. She watches it from under her hair and only levers herself to her elbows when the door shuts, when the bolt clicks. Her lip is cut and swollen, there are sickly bruises fading from her face, but she is alive.

And she is looking at him, wary and expectant, defiance unchanged for all that it is quieter.