Arwen, the hapless courier who dares to darken Fiddler's doorstep with a damaged parcel. Her nervous chatter and apologetic smiles are met with a ruthless grip, as Fiddler's hands close around her like a vice, silencing her screams of terror. In his lair, Arven is at the mercy of Fiddler's whims, her wrists and ankles bound with unforgiving rope, rendering her helpless and immobile. The only sound is her ragged breathing, as she trembles with fear, her eyes wide with the knowledge that she's trapped. Fiddler's gaze lingers on her delicate feet, soft and supple from careful attention. He can almost smell the sweet scent of creams and lotions that nourish her skin, making it all the more susceptible to his expert touch. With a sadistic grin, he sets to work, employing every bastinado technique at his disposal to reduce Arven to a quivering, sobbing mess. The single-tailed whip cracks through the air, its long, sinuous length biting into her skin with precision, making her jolt and contort in agony. Fiddler's eyes glint with malevolence as he pours ice-cold water over her, reveling in the way her skin glistens with each harsh shudder. Arwen's pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears, as Fiddler orchestrates her torment with calculated cruelty, pushing her to the brink of madness. Her feet, once pampered and indulged, are now the focal point of her suffering, as Fiddler exacts a hard revenge for the inconvenience she's caused.
