13 >> {a dream?}
He's straddling her, knees planted into pavement oozing with blood, chest heaving with the thrill of it all
breath hitching, throat dry.
Arching a leathered back, he waits until a series of sickening clicks travel across his shoulders, down his spine, and he's satisfied, sighing at last and bringing the rush to a peaceful end. Riza lies beneath him, torn mouth frozen in a perpetual scream.
she's missing teeth
Leaning over her, the man lifts the beak of his mask, just barely, and drops a kiss on her cheek, hovering there a moment before licking slick red from his bottom lip.
"Again, Malfatto? Weren't we enough for you?"
The voice is soft, but there's an edge to it. A venom thinly veiled beneath honeyed charm. Tapping the brim of his hat as she passes, a girl comes into view, as gore-streaked as the one he's just destroyed.
Her throat's been cut. Still, she lives.
Speaks.
Accuses.
Chestnut hair frames a youthful face drained of life, save for layers of garish eyeshadow, rouge, lipstick, the colors faintly smudged, yet stark against the pallid gray of her skin. Her dress, you can tell, was once a cotton candy pink, delicate lace sticky since the flood from her neck. Everything from tits to toes is red. Simply red.
She's empty now, in every way possible.
"Did you enjoy killing her?" she asks, nodding downward. Something in her voice is changing, the tone slowing, lowering, like a battery dying in a talking doll. The transition is eerie. Inhuman. "I know you enjoyed killing my sisters. Coming into our house and doing what you did. Fifteen of us, you son of a bitch. Fifteen."
Fixing the mask back into place, unperturbed, he shrugs, "I'm expected to feel guilt for destroying the carriers of disease? Of filth? For saving others from sin? Temptation?" A blink beneath those tinted lenses, "That's my purpose, my dear."
She shrugs, lithe fingers curling around the ends of her hair, seemingly musing over this. After a moment, she merely sighs, leaning down to whisper something to him before strolling off, fading into the alley depths.
He nods.
"I know. I know."
breath hitching, throat dry.
Arching a leathered back, he waits until a series of sickening clicks travel across his shoulders, down his spine, and he's satisfied, sighing at last and bringing the rush to a peaceful end. Riza lies beneath him, torn mouth frozen in a perpetual scream.
she's missing teeth
Leaning over her, the man lifts the beak of his mask, just barely, and drops a kiss on her cheek, hovering there a moment before licking slick red from his bottom lip.
"Again, Malfatto? Weren't we enough for you?"
The voice is soft, but there's an edge to it. A venom thinly veiled beneath honeyed charm. Tapping the brim of his hat as she passes, a girl comes into view, as gore-streaked as the one he's just destroyed.
Her throat's been cut. Still, she lives.
Speaks.
Accuses.
Chestnut hair frames a youthful face drained of life, save for layers of garish eyeshadow, rouge, lipstick, the colors faintly smudged, yet stark against the pallid gray of her skin. Her dress, you can tell, was once a cotton candy pink, delicate lace sticky since the flood from her neck. Everything from tits to toes is red. Simply red.
She's empty now, in every way possible.
"Did you enjoy killing her?" she asks, nodding downward. Something in her voice is changing, the tone slowing, lowering, like a battery dying in a talking doll. The transition is eerie. Inhuman. "I know you enjoyed killing my sisters. Coming into our house and doing what you did. Fifteen of us, you son of a bitch. Fifteen."
Fixing the mask back into place, unperturbed, he shrugs, "I'm expected to feel guilt for destroying the carriers of disease? Of filth? For saving others from sin? Temptation?" A blink beneath those tinted lenses, "That's my purpose, my dear."
She shrugs, lithe fingers curling around the ends of her hair, seemingly musing over this. After a moment, she merely sighs, leaning down to whisper something to him before strolling off, fading into the alley depths.
He nods.
"I know. I know."