His uniform was going to be in tatters by the time she was finished with it, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He had other uniforms. What happened to this one was unimportant. He lapsed back into silence, making no sounds apart from the sound of his breathing and the occasional soft whimper as her blades slid through his skin. But there was such thing as too much of a good thing, and he was nearing a point that he'd have to beg her to stop, and he wasn't entirely certain that she'd listen. He wasn't entirely certain he wanted her to stop, either, and never mind that by now it hurt so much it was getting difficult to breathe.

He wasn't sure he could even speak, by this point. He swallowed, licked his lips, opened his mouth, but no sound came out, apart from another soft whimper. His body was on fire, the multitude of cuts stinging and burning when he moved, though it dulled when he sat perfectly still. He tried again to speak, and couldn't, and finally he stopped trying.