Love, real love, takes time. It takes time to spring from the smallest seed. It takes time to grow from the fondness of friends. It takes time to rise from the hatred of rivals. And it takes time to develop from the Stockholm syndrome of a kidnapped victim, a victim of lustful infatuation, an object of desire. But now he had her, he would keep her. Defiance would come first. Submission was inevitable. But love, real love, would take time.