Darmuid’s waking hours were filled with splotches of violent crimsons- wherever he dared to look, furious red bled into the landscape.
Rip. Tear.
He shivered and curled up tight in the fetal position: hoping, praying and begging for it to leave him alone.
Please, go away. Leave me alone.
In answer, a caressing murmur reached him.
Devour…
Helpless and terrified beyond reason, he shut his eyes tight; feeling the shadows move and flit around him in a never ending sinister ballet. And the torment continued.
Have you ever noticed, it asked suavely, how good it feels to slide a blade into living flesh? How easily it rips, almost like butter.
It licked his lips right at Darmuid’s ears, and he felt the tongue moistening chapped lips. He knew those lips- brown with caked blood, barely concealing lupine teeth.
And, oh, the wetness… the red looks so lovely against the white flesh.
Darmuid froze altogether as he felt nails scraping over his bare back.
But the best part is when they shiver and spasm.
He whimpered when they dug into his flesh, and he knew it’d drawn blood.
Lovely.
A moist tongue swept over the wound, making his entire body break out into goosebumps.
“What…what have…I ev-ever done t-to you?”
A crushing blow to his midriff was the answer to his question- and as he lay gasping, a hand relentlessly traveled up his torso, leaving deep gouges as it did so. It stopped right at his heart.
My dear, your very life is what engages me so.
It was at its ear again, every whimper that you make, the heat of your body.
The hand moved downwards now….
Your agony is my rapture.
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I guess this is a fresh one?