[If only it were so simple. Even as careful as Yuan is, Kratos's body lifts once more before the blade touches, a slow and useless resistance to Yuan's weight. The seal's expectation of release is suffocating enough to stop Kratos's breath on that first scrape -- and, of course, nothing happens. No death. No release.

[Kratos manages to exhales again, shaky; he doesn't exactly relax, but he stops lifting against Yuan's weight -- at least until the next scrape. It goes like that, the seal expecting death and absolution every time the razor comes at Kratos's face; and every time, denied, the anticipation subsiding no further than hard wariness.

[When Yuan reaches up to rinse the razor Kratos shifts again, but more testingly, his wrists pulling taut against the handcuffs. It's only then that he notices the dull throbbing pain in them, the trickle of blood running down his arms. He hadn't realised he was bleeding, through the tense pressure of the seal within. At least the seal doesn't make him buck -- as if it, indeed, starting to realise that Yuan may mean no harm.]