Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2013 2:00:41 GMT -5
Drip....drip....drip....
Silence. Blessed silence. She always took it when she could. Always prayed for it. For the voices to stop, her head to clear. Only when she fed them screams did she earn this peace.
Drip....drip....drip....
But even know, after they had been sated, they would return soon. The screams had stopped for the moment. Well, for her at least. For her newest toy, the screams were forever stopped.
Drip....drip....drip....
"Well, look at this one. Didn't last very long, did he?"
Ah, there it was. The voice was deep, gravely. He always came first, cooed over her handiwork. Praised her, delighted in her killings. Even with her eyes closed, she could picture his form. Skin like ash, eyes like blood. Horns like a ram's curled from atop his shaved head. Wrath, he liked to call himself. Fitting name, as far as she was concerned.
"He was weak. Why do you think he would have lasted longer than any of the others?"
Ah, there it was. The second voice that always joined her. Cold, unforgiving. Unmoving. Feminine, but lacking any warmth. Skin the color of a cloud's before a storm, eyes black, horns extending back from her head. She liked to be called Disaster. She often spoke of the bodies. Weak, boring, they bled too much. All Disaster's opinion. Or were they her's? She couldn't tell anymore.
"Our girl did such a wonderful job. Think she's earned a reward."
Warm hands seemed to wrap around her from behind, even though she lay on a couch. They were roving, teasing and she once again sighed. These feelings always belonged to Lust, a make with skin so dark it was almost black, eyes of purple and horns that curved backward elegantly. He liked to touch her. Or, she imagined him doing so.
"Calm down, Lust. You know she's off limits. Belongs to Death himself," Wrath reminded him with a chuckle. She heard Lust sigh, the warmth leaving her, only frigid cold remaining. Death. They spoke of him often. Yet, she had never seen nor heard him. Which was strange. These three were not the only voices she heard. Misery, Doubt, Lies, Secret, Distrust, Violence. They all often visited her. But only when the screams died. The three continued to calm, laughing at her latest work. Her hand tightened on the now-red scalpel. Why wouldn't they just shut up? She'd like it if they did. There was the obvious answer. She could bring in another, paint them a beautiful red. Carve into them, reshape them like clay as their screams sang to her like music. But she was tired... So very tired as she often was after these sessions.
"I think our little Addy is ignoring us," Lust purred. She could almost feel Wrath's grin, Lust's leer, Disaster's stare.
"That's not very nice. What should we do with her?" Disaster spoke.
"Well.....we could always-"
"Ringmaster?"
Her eyes cracked open, olive gaze focusing on the man before her. He was tall, well over six feet and was built like a tank, though as stupid as a rock. She sighed, letting her head loll back over her settee, crimson red hair tickling her cheeks. The strongman kept his gaze focused on her, ignoring the body attached to the knife's thrower's board.
"We're ready to leave whenever you are," he continued. She sighed, gazing up at the tent. Finally, she stood. Over to the man she walked, the coppery sent of blood filling her nose, it's taste on her tongue. The strongman tried not to watch, his stomach delicate. With one final glance at her latest toy, she stuck the scalpel into his head.
'Then, let's go. Our friend here will deliver my message to the Force," she finally said. Without a backwards glance, she walked past him and out of the tent. The strongman gulped, eyes darting, reading the words carved into the body. It was a simple message.
"Catch me if you can, fuckers."