Three days without blood, Elias thought to himself, staring at the sterile white ceiling of his padded cell. The Institute found pleasure in starving him, thinking that getting rid of his main source of food would have some adverse effects on him. Stupid fucking scientists, all they're doing is making me pissed off. Elias was picking at his nails, which had gotten much longer than he'd like. He would just bite them off, but he found that the longer his nails were, the easier it was to claw at the guards who tried to tase him into submission.

I wonder when my next meal is... Usually, the Institute fed him just enough to keep him alive, but he would usually spoil himself by chewing on the neck of one of the guards. He was supposed to get fed every four or five days, but he was hoping they would spoil him a bit since he had been good.

Once he got bored of staring at the ceiling, he turned onto his side on the shitty spring cot they provided him, staring at the wall. It was a daily routine; once he got bored staring at one surface, he'd move to the next, and the next, and so on. Sure, it was mind-numbingly boring, but what else was there to do when they weren't there? So he tossed and he turned.

And tossed. And turned.

Until he looked at every surface, counted every stud in the padding, and traced every line there was. He even remade his bed for fucks sake.

That's when he smelled it. Them.

Fuck, they smell so good, Elias groaned internally, rising from his bed and leaning against the bars of his cell. He was trying to act nonchalant, even as every nerve in his body was alight, excited to see his favorite scientist. He had always pushed down the warmth in his chest when he smelled them coming, but every day it got stronger, slowly consuming him. He knew he was growing attached, but that thought was horrifying in itself, so, per usual, he stomped on the feeling until he could pretend it wasn't there.

Attachments get you killed, a voice whispered in the back of his head, making him grimace. He had lived by that motto, even when he was a monarch in the medieval ages, when he had anyone at the tips of his fingers. He never allowed himself to get attached, and he wasn't about to start now, even if his lifeless heart was beginning to hammer against his ribs at the thought of them alone. Get a grip, Elias!

He could hear their footsteps now, and he couldn't help but smirk. "You," he called out, drawling out the word. He knew he shouldn't be calling out the scientist meant to experiment on him, but he couldn't help himself, not when it was so fun to mess with them. "Hurry along now, I was just getting bored," he tried to make it sound like he was upset, even sporting a pout to try and tug at their heartstrings. "You don't want your plaything to get bored, now do you?"