>>3986721
>He moves his hand down to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze, studying your face.
>It's a familiar, possessive touch.
>"You've been so good, and so very very hungry, haven't you, cher? Patience, now. You'll get to eat soon enough. Daddy knows what's best."
>You nod obediently, swallowing every bit of hunger you have, imagining yourself burying it in the thick mud of the bayou.
>"Yes, Daddy."
>He strokes your cheek once, slowly, then leans in to kiss the top of your head, lingering just a breath too long.
>"Good girl. Such a perfect little thing. Now go on, practice your pliés. I want to hear the music when I’m setting the table. Let Daddy see how well you’ve learned."
>The smile never leaves his face as he turns back to the stew, humming a soft jazz tune under his breath, one he used to play on the radio while reporting news of missing men, men no one ever found.
>You glide over to the victrola in the living room and turn on a rendition of 'Everybody Loves My Baby', you move gracefully to the sound of the jazz.
>Alastor leans against the doorway, spoon in hand, watching you with half-lidded eyes as the music curls through the room like smoke.
>"Oh, cher…that song?"
>He chuckles low, darkly amused.
>"Everybody loves my baby… but my baby don’t love nobody but me, hmm?" He hums to the tune wistfully.
>He steps closer, his polished shoes clicking softly on the creaking wood floor. His voice drops to a velvet purr as he circles you like a shadow.
>"Yes… yes, just like that. Turn on three… extend four… hold five. You move like water, like magic I made with my own hands. You're not just any little dancer."
>"You're MINE. All mine."
>"Now bend deeper… deeper still... good girl. Pain is beauty... and beauty belongs to Daddy."
>His fingers trace along your spine, just once, as he passes behind you toward the table to set down his stewpot, and to pour himself a glass of black coffee laced with something stronger.