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Watchful Eyes


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Dempsey Kasdeya

My therapist always told me that my hatred for my peers in high school derived from the jealousy of my ordinary, mediocre features. His heartfelt analysis of my unhappiness with my appearance was nothing more than wrong. He was old, and tired and thought that all unhappy teenagers were obsessed with their appearance, and therefore were consumed with remorse when they weren’t accepted by their classmates. I am simple, I have eyes, a nose, and large lips that are turned down in a permanent frown. My curly hair and light coco skin was indicative of my racial makeup, I was nothing spectacular, but I wasn’t hideous. I was simply a human being. I wasn’t unhappy with my features, and I surely hadn’t been jealous of my peers because they looked like models from a magazine. My hatred for them was simply because they were human, and they were close and proximity. There were hundreds of reasons to hate humankind, but I simply hated them without reason.

My therapist was naïvely wrong, but he was to believe that he was helping me, curing me of some deep seeded anger. I played my part, which is why it was so easy to kill him. He trusted my sanity, trusted my normalcy, and trusted that I was just another spoiled teenager creating problems for myself to get attention. His misjudgment led to his murder, and I felt no remorse.

I was a senior in high school when I killed my therapist. Over the past seven years, I have racked up a death toll of 12. My first year in university was full of bloodlust and killed the most victims within that year, my killings have dwindled and it’s been over a year since I have last killed, my hands are itching to kill.

It will happen soon, I’ve begun to follow my victims. I know where they live, how many keys are on their keychain, who they text, when they sleep and when they work. I am consumed by Thomas and his daily activities. I see him change clothes through the blue drapes pulled aside at his window. His skin glistens with sweat from the gym he just left, I have followed him home, hidden in the throngs of people. He is unsuspecting and the excitement of the kill prickles at the base of my neck.

Soon his girlfriend will arrive, and I watch the two bicker for an hour before retiring to the bedroom where Thomas dominates over the woman who pretends to be in charge. They will f*ck, and as soon as Thomas reaches his climax he will remove himself from Patricia and head to the shower to wash away his gym sweat and the sticky globs of white slime. Patricia will roll to her side and stifle a sniffle before pulling her shirt back over her head, then crawling into bed, wrapped in a ball on her side.

It would be best for everyone if I killed both together, Patricia is already alone otherwise she wouldn’t chase after the love of a man that doesn’t want her. And Thomas, well Thomas caught my attention and I’ve been unable to let the image of his blood covering my body leave my mind for the weeks that I’ve been following him. I get more sexual pleasure from the thought of my hands driving the knife into his gut than any man or woman could ever stimulate with a sexual act.


Soon Thomas will be dead.

Soon I will feel happy.

D. K.

Dempsey signed her initials at the bottom of her journal entry before looking back over the meticulous curvature of her letters, a satisfied smile pulled at the frown on her lips as the ink dried to the crisp white paper of the cheap journal. Her fingers drummed along the words for a moment before she closed the book and slipped it into the comfort of her purse. Her therapist had told her to write down her new therapist had told her to write down her feelings every day to satisfy her curiosity. However, her therapist didn’t know the depths of her disturbing mind. Dr. Ambrose thought she was simply angry, and sometimes wanted to act out with violent actions. Dr. Ambrose didn’t know that Dempsey was a murderous human without a soul full of guilt for her committed crimes.

In fact, nobody knew of her committed crimes. She had blended so well into her environment that she wasn’t even on the list of suspects that could have taken part in the gruesome crimes of the murdered targets. She truly was a plain sight for the eyes, and often wore no makeup to enhance any of her features, she was a nobody in the sea of people, and this made her the most dangerous type of being.

Her dark eyes turned toward the window of the house she was perched outside of, Thomas was standing there looking out the window, but he didn’t see her. He never saw her sitting against the lamppost with her knees pulled to her chest and a giant sweater wrapped around her body. He didn’t know Dempsey was there, they never knew Dempsey was there.

But she was always there.

Always lurking. 

October 25, 2017 05:39 pm


It was almost a complete cliche, this night in the cemetery. The wind rustled gently through the foliage rubbing leaf against leaf and branch against branch to set an almost eerie, otherworldly mood. The moon hung a waxing crescent in the sky amidst the twinkling stars, bathing the gently rolling landscape in a netherlight that distorted the size and shape of objects and played tricks on depth perception. Tombstone after tombstone, similar in size and shape but with enough customization among the ranks to show some sort of individuality stood in long, neat columns and rows with identical spacing in between. Heaven forbid Grandmother be buried so close to Uncle Ted that their caskets may touch with the shifting of the Earth. The occasional cawing call of a nightbird or the hoot or screech of a nearby owl broke the monotonous shifting of nervous branches only slightly but served also to add another auditory undertone to the already strange tableau. The droning of distant traffic and the baying of the occasional dog in the night served not at all to break the mood for it seemed distant. Isolated. It was not part of this world in the cemetery where the dead lay in final repose. It was not part of this world that attempted to bridge the gap between departed spirits and those living who wished to show respect and longing for those who had crept away into whatever afterlife might await them, where children and cousins and widows and friends would come to place meaningless trinkets and dying plants upon the marker where decaying flesh lay beneath.

A trio of females stood in a roughly triangular shape over a freshly carved rectangular hole at the crest of a gentle swelling of earth. Two males stood at opposite points to complete the five apexes of a pentagram, that was drawn in powdered chalk on the ground crossing the grave. They smelled of stale alcohol, cloves cigarettes, marijuana, and teenage angst, dressed all in black with hair styled in unique and abstract ways to denote their ultimate individuality despite the inherent contradiction of following the same perceived goal of unique self expression. They shuffled uncomfortably in the chill air, arms wrapped firmly about torsos in attempt to hold in some of their body heat.

”We gotta do it just right, remember? Just like we practiced,” said one of the girls. She was short and broad by comparison to the others with generous hips and breasts along with a protrusion of taut stomach that was little hidden by the form-fitting, artfully ripped tee shirt that depicted some metal band proclaiming their ultimate submission to the Devil.

”Yeah yeah, Janet. We fukkin’ get it. Let’s get on with it already. My buzz is wearin’ off and it’s cold as a witch’s left testicle out here,” growled one of the boys, a gangly and awkward thing with acne marring his every facial plane and a voice that cracked ever so slightly on every eighth syllable or so.

”Ugh!” The girl grouched, shaking her head back and forth sending her uneven black hair swaying about her shoulders. ”Quit whining, Travis! Remember, all at once now...” She paused and raised her hands to the sky and began to chant in a language that the earth had not heard in centuries upon centuries.

The other four youths joined in at their appointed times, their arms mirroring Janet’s in their gyrating reach skyward as though they were beseeching the Heavens themselves some favor. Of course, this was not their intent. Not even slightly was this their intent as they thought, in their vast understanding of the mystical arts and theology, that they were asking boon of Satan himself. It was a game. A joke. Something to tell their friends about later at how brave they were, standing above an open grave in the dead of night and calling upon the Devil Himself.

Little did they know. Little indeed.

A being did stir at the beginning of their call. It felt the tickle of words long forgotten brushing over its incorporeal essence. This was a chant that transcended both time and face, dancing and echoing throughout the eons to reach and beckon something vast beyond the meager understanding of Mortal Man. The first sensation that this being was aware of was the beckoning call. It filled its entire being with its beautiful music and it shifted for the first time in... Time. Time was meaningless. Perhaps it had just been banished to its prison when the call came, or perhaps it had been locked inside for a geological epoch. It didn’t know. It didn’t care. Its only care was that it felt the call with such profound and orgasmic pleasure that it began to stir.

The second thing that the Being was aware of was pain. Nay, pain was not a proper representation of this feeling. It was abject agony. It was soul rending sensation that ripped at every nonexistent fiber of its metaphysical essence.

From pleasure to pain. From pain to anger. From anger to... Curiosity. Who dared speak his Name? Who dared call him, HIM forth?

Janet held a tattered Hello Kitty backpack in one hand, a struggling and whining creature writhing within. Her left hand held a ceremonial looking dagger picked up at a mall outlet store catering to the knife aficionado and amateur enthusiast alike. She reached into the backpack and pulled out a whining, pathetic little mongrel of a puppy. Perhaps a Labrador mix of some sort with long, mottled brown and gold fur that puffed out in every direction. She wrapped her fingers deep into the scruff of the wiggling, whining animal and held it aloft above the open grave.

”We offer this sacrifice to you, Nab... Nabu... Nabumot,” she said in English for the first time since the chant had begun. She struggled with the pronunciation of the name in her memory though the three syllables were quite simple. After the final echo died away, she slid the sharp blade over the puppy’s throat, spilling its life essence down into the pit where it disappeared, blending with the shadow beneath. “The blood of an innocent to feed your lust! Grant us your blessing on this night in exchange for this pathetic creature’s life!”

”Jesus Janet!” One of the other girls exclaimed, her hands dropping to her stomach as she doubled over and fought heaving gags. ”You... Killed... A fukkin’...” she gasped, hacking and coughing down bile. ”You killed a puppy? What is wrong with you!?”

”Well, we had to pay him somehow, didn’t we?” Janet replied calmly with a shrug. ”Come on, let’s go get high.” She said and started to walk away, tossing the warm corpse of the hapless animal into the grave and shouldering her backpack.

The group of five gathered into a tight pack and began to walk toward the path that led from the cemetery when the sound of air moving rapidly stopped them all dead in their tracks. Shadow and light swirled and coalesced in a writhing mass that seemed rather tentacular and living. It pulsed inward and outward as air moved more rapidly. Dust and rocks were thrown into the air and limbs were ripped violently from trunk with much crashing and cracking. The whole of the swirling light and shadow seemed to expand outward exponentially before, without warning, imploding in on itself with a giant BOOM that reverberated for miles around. Those within hearing distance probably thought it was some sort of gunshot or explosive, but the five... They knew it for what it was...

Well, one of them did. Two boys and two girls lay in a jumbled heap with blood seeping slowly from facial orifices where their brains had veritably liquefied within their skulls. The fifth girl, a tiny and petite creature, sat on her knees with her head bowed and both hands clamped tightly over the sides of her head. Senseless and gibbering low under her breath, she rocked back and forth, moaning every so often but unaware of the world around her.

”A... Dog?” Came a voice far from unpleasant. It was powerful and resounded from all points in the world around though it seemed to originate from no singular location.

A figure, tall and lean and wearing a layered skirt upon his lower half stepped casually out of the grave as though it had a staircase made specifically for him and set his first bare foot upon the Earth in a millennium or more.

”Come now, child, thy choice is a weak one at the best of times,” came that voice again teasing at the girl’s mind despite her hands covering her ears. He sniffed the air thoughtfully thrice, his tongue darting between his lips in a suspiciously reptilian manner as though he were tasting the scent upon the air. ”Thou... Thou hast potential, Dearest.” he purred as he crossed the distance separating them. ”The companions of thine were unworthy, but thine own heart remains strong for the nonce. Stand, Child, that mine eyes might perceive thee better.”

Indomitable will pressed down upon the girl forcing her legs to do the bidding of this creature from shadow and light who now stood strong before her. She made her way to her feet and looked up into Nabumot’s gold and black eyes, pierced and transfixed by a gaze as fathomless as the eons themselves. With forceps fingers, he gripped the girl by her jaw and pulled her a step closer while exerting force upon her mandibular joint as he over-extended her lower jaw. She whimpered as the CRACK! POP! reverberated in the air around them and likely more powerfully in her own skull but could no more act to stop this action than she could lift a Suburban onto her narrow back.

”So pretty. So pure,” came that voice. There was no way this was ending well for her... No way in all the Heavens and the Earth. No way in the best imagined scene from the most fanciful romantic.
October 26, 2017 10:21 pm

Dempsey Kasdeya

The sun had finally fallen below the monstrous skyscrapers of the city when Dempsey rose from her stiff position propped against the post. With her journal tucked firmly in the comfort of her messenger bag she crept toward the quiet house, the dim porch light the only semblance of a life beyond the threshold. Thomas had flicked the light on in passing to the kitchen, he hadn’t stopped to glance out the small half-moon window of his heavy oak door, and he hadn’t taken the time to see Dempsey. That was the problem with the world, everyone was always in a hurry even when they had no place to be.

Not Dempsey.

Dempsey was thrilled by the anticipation of waiting, her level of patience was unchartable. She would wait for years before striking, it made the experience even greater. It was like building up the big “O”, resisting a premature ejaculation to experience the euphoria that came from pushing the limits. The satisfaction of a slow burn elevated the moment of pleasure.

Dark eyes flicked to the time on her watch.


Thomas was surely asleep by this point, his early morning alarm clock killing any form of social interaction at night. When the city was starting to come to life, some of the world, like Thomas, were falling into bed. Tucked soundly in their beds with false pretenses of safety behind their locked doors. For the first time in weeks his girlfriend wasn’t tucked by his side in his large king sized bed. Dempsey crept forward, her thumb running over the smooth silver key in her pocket. When Patricia had first started staying the night Thomas had foolishly left her a spare key above the door. Dempsey had swiped the key and made herself a copy, replacing the key before it was missed.

She had access to his house.

To his world.

As she approached the door a smile spread across her face.

The key slide into the keyhole with ease before she quietly entered the house, her shoes kicked off by the front door so she could silently make her way through the home without a peep.

The tall caramel skinned brunette walked a familiar path. First to the kitchen, and then down the hall to the living space. Her gloved fingers ran the length of the leather sofa, before passing by the other empty rooms. Her breath hitched in a moment of excitement before she slipped into the man’s bedroom, his fan softly humming a song in the darkness.

Carefully Dempsey crawled into the bed next to the man, laying in silence, listening to his heavy breathing and soft snores. A line of sweat glistened in the moonlight across his forehead, his tense muscles finally relaxed as his body rested, unaware of the world moving around him, and the strange woman next to him in bed.

Dempsey locked her eyes to his face, she studied his appearance, the way his lips parted with his slackened jaw. The steady rise and fall of his chest that had a small tuft of curly hair between his nipples. Four fingers of one hand rested beneath the waistband of his boxers, the other arm was stretched above his head, his fingers barely resting against the pillow where Dempsey now rested her head.

She wanted to scoot closer, to reach out and touch him, she wanted to wrap her gloved fingers around his neck and press down on his windpipe to pull the air out of his lungs. She wanted to stay there all night watching him, planning his death, but instead, after what felt like an eternity by his side, she slipped away from the bed and left a kiss against his temple before disappearing. A discarded shirt was tasseled on the floor and Dempsey quickly stuffed it in her bag before leaving the house and locking the door behind her.

When she was finally a few blocks away she stripped the coat from her body and slide his t-shirt over her head. The smell of his sweat wafted through her nostrils and Dempsey closed her eyes in a moment of bliss before she pulled the coat back over her shivering body. She was one-day closer. One day closer to claiming him as her own. But today was not that day. Now it was time to go home and bask in the success of the night.

Her mind was rumbling with thoughts of excitement and pleasure as she passed by the eerie graveyard.

How many of her victims had been buried there?

Her feet tried to push away from the gothic gates, spiked points a daunting reminder that this was not a place of safety, but a place of sorrow.

“Soon.” She whispered her promise to the necropolis, a promise of an offering to the ground that craved flesh and bone. “Soon.”

Dempsey took another whiff of the shirt cloaking her body as she rocked back on her heels.

“So Pretty, So Pure.” A voice echoed from beyond the gate and Dempsey questioned her sanity for a moment in time. Had her mind began to whisper sweet nothings in her ears? Impossible. One shaking hand reached up to touch her forehead as if she were checking for a temperature, a sign that her mind was not turning on her.

That’s when she saw the man, walking amongst the grave, a young girl trailing by his side.

There was something off-putting but Dempsey couldn’t find it in her heart to care. The girl was alone in a cemetery. Perhaps she deserved to die. Still, she called out in the darkness, disrupting the intimacy of the couple’s moment.

“Nice night out.” 

November 02, 2017 09:21 pm


With firm fingers, Nabumot held tight the young woman’s now dislocated jaw that flapped easily in his hand. She was unable to fall unconscious because of the strength of his Will over her, nor was she able to resist in any way. Her only cry to freedom came in her desperately moving eyes, unable to blink but rolling violently and erratically in their sockets as if that would have any bearing on the events that transpired. Rivulets of salty tears ran freely down the girl’s face, cascading off of her prominent cheekbones to curl inward and follow the bridge of her nose, over her upper lip and into her gaping mouth. There was a strange symmetry in the moment to the Gallu, his eyes pinning the girl’s with curiosity more than with any sort of malice. There was no hatred within the Sumerian. Not for this one.

”So pure,” he repeated, his thumb rolling over her upper lip to gather up some of the gathering moisture. He pulled his hand away and placed the thumb into his own mouth, his lips curling languidly around it as he tasted of the physical manifestation of her fear and pain. He could smell, too, the scent of her voided bladder and bowels where her body had released all waste in its panic. There was something beautiful about the smell to him, though he found no true joy in human byproducts as such. His hand made its way back to her jaw and forced it wider once more, eliciting little whimpers from the girl who was unable to scream.

”Thy sweetness shows through even in thy fear, Dear Child,” said he, the chosen name sounding more like a title than a simple term of endearment. ”Thy mistake is mine own blessing.” He gave her a wink. A slow, languid wink in which only his left eye closed, the lid creeping down over his dark ocular to close just barely and make its way back up with the same agonizing slowness.

Nabumot’s fingers delved into the girl’s mouth, digits wiggling about slowly and carefully as they explored every recess and cranny within. He tapped one at a time along each of her teeth as he counted quietly aloud, fingers tracing their way around the curve of her lower jaw and back up until he finally tapped on the healed hole where her wisdom tooth once lay. He counted back slowly, tapping again toward the front of her jaw and stopped. Three taps on a single tooth.

”This one,” commented the Gallu, flicking the enamel a few more times to emphasize the words. Forefinger and thumb moving in like tweezers, the Gallu surrounded the hardened bit of calcium and squeezed tightly. He rolled his wrist back and forth and felt the tooth begin to rock in its seating. The low crack of the root breaking loose somewhere deep inside echoed louder than it might were her mouth not opened wide to amplify the sound waves. A truly sinister smile pulled at Nabumot’s mouth though it never made its way to his eyes as he added a twist to the rock and, with a pop of released flesh, he pulled out the second mandibular bicuspid from the right side of her jaw. He pulled the blood-and-spittle gleaming tooth out before her eyes, more pain and panic rolling through the girl’s visage as she tried desperately to scream, to fight, to do anything.

”This one,” he repeated, allowing the tooth to fall back into his palm leaving a pink and crimson wet trail over his extended finger until it lay in a pool of spittle and human vitality in the small hollow created by his hand.

That’s when the Gallu heard the footsteps and felt the presence of another. He rolled his tongue out over his sharp, needle-like teeth and turned toward the approaching figure. ’Nice night,’ she had said. If Nabumot was at all disconcerted about the fact that he stood among four teenage corpses and had another girl helplessly standing beneath his will as he performed impromptu dentistry, he showed not a sign. Instead, a laugh escaped his lips. Not a loud or raucous laugh, nor was it sinister in any way. It was the deep belly laugh of a grandfather watching a child at play, reveling in the innocence and beauty. It was the laugh of pure joy.

”Dearest Child,” said he repeating the title he had used on the other female. They were all children to him and he cared very little for their True Names. He needed no such crutch to overpower them. ”The night resounds with beauty of which mine eyes have not feasted in longer than thine own mind can comprehend,” he finished, offering a mocking bow. ”Come thee to join in my Revelry and Rebirth?” Of course everything was about him tonight. Everything was about him every night.

Negligently, the Gallu clutched the half-forgotten tooth from his palm in another pincer grip of thumb and forefinger. He examined it like a jeweler searching for flaws before, with a shrug, he tossed it into his mouth and began to rattle it around the insides of his teeth with his tongue.
November 04, 2017 12:15 am

Dempsey Kasdeya

Dempsey gazed across the path of death at the strange creature dragging along the girl that seemed to be at his disposal. Any normal or sane person would reach out to help the girl, but the wickedness that rest beneath the surface denied Dempsey any scrap of decency to come forth. People spend most of their time hiding their sins, the darkness consuming them during every waking hour until they give into the things they truly desire. Humans were terrible, self-loathing, specimens that repudiated their own happiness so that they could appear good and holy and worthy of entry into the heaven they foolishly believed existed. When people died they would simply rot underneath the decrepit soil, no soul to carry into the afterlife.

It was perhaps this belief that allowed Dempsey to give into her sins and feel not a single shred of guilt while she stalked and killed her unsuspecting prey. Only a few people in this world freely gave into their true yearnings for happiness, she was among the few that would rather live her wicked life in pure bliss than to pretend to be some innocent girl wallowing away while so toyed with the idea of death in her dreams.


Dempsey would never try to closet the need to act on her feelings, she would always give into the sins singing their sweeting tempting seductions in her ears. It seemed that the man across the way from her was also one of the few willing to give into the darkness that seeped from his heart, though he had a peculiar vernacular, he was still inviting her to drink in his malice.

Dempsey watched as he examined a foreign object that her eyes couldn’t decipher in the dull moonlight. The small white item gleamed for a moment before he popped it into his mouth like a mint, perhaps that’s what the item was, though she wasn’t sure why he’d examine it so closely unless it had recently fallen to the dusty earth. Her head quirked to the side as she watched him, almost forgetting about the girl that was nearly discarded by his side at the moment. She didn’t seem lucid in the moment and for a moment Dempsey wondered if he had drugged her. (A poor way to tame someone in her opinion, she would much rather deal with a violent thrasher then dope them up. The fight was what made it fun.) Still, the girl was there and Dempsey remember that a decent person would help the poor creature.

However, Dempsey was clearly not a decent person so she took a step closer to the boneyard but remained a few paces away from the bizarre man that sounded like a twisted poet. She may be a maniac and may have a strong bloodthirst, but she wasn’t stupid. He could kill her in a heartbeat if that was his prerogative, she wasn’t ready to die. She wasn’t done having her fun.

“Well it surely is a lovely evening, though I’m not sure what glory we are basking in this night. And what of the girl? Are you planning on keeping her?” 

November 23, 2017 10:17 pm


Surrounded by the tepid darkness and the glories of Death, Nabumot was in a pleasant mood indeed. Under different circumstances, the approach of a young woman in the middle of this ceremony, HIS ceremony on HIS night might have caused him to become volatile. To become dangerous. Never angry, though, for anger was beneath him. He had not the time for such a primitive and weak, human emotion. The Gallu looked back to the whimpering form of the girl, rivulets of ruby blood and clear saliva mixing to make a strange, sticky set of streamers that swung down from her chin and outward from her body until it hung at about a forty five degree angle from her chin. The streamers kept running and breaking away only to be replenished by more until it looked like so many crimson spiderwebs flying off into the darkness.

The Sumerian monster sniffed twice and leaned in very slowly, his tongue pushing from between his lips and running over his sharp teeth only to slide up the girl’s chin, over her cheek, and straight into the socket of her eye where it worked its way in tight circles over the slimy surface of the orb.

”Thy flavor is exquisite, My Dearest Child,” said he, his tone melodious in its darkness as it dripped from his lips like so much spoiled honey carrying with it the diseases of a bygone age. ”Mine pallet has missed this lovely flavour, the virginal blood of a sacrificial lamb who called me with her own two lips. I thank thee, Dear One. Thy pursuit of power, perhaps, has born fruit.”

The Gallu released the jaw of the woman who fell whimpering to the grass, her body already clinging to itself in the instinctive fetal position as though taking on the aspect of a child in the womb might save her from the horrors to come. Nabumot licked his lips slowly to taste of the last of the essence that clung to them before turning to the newcomer once again. His eyebrows rose in a parody of a human expression, his lips pulling away from those sharp teeth to allow their porcelain enamel to flash brightly in the night.

”Keep her, Dear Child?” Came the questioning creature’s curiosity made vocal. ”For what purpose might I keep such a pathetic mortal underfoot? Shall I grant her great power from mine own hand? Shall I form unto her the mantle of tyrant that she might bind the Realms of Man beneath her iron fist and shake from them every last hope that they have carried from the very first time their primordial ancestors stacked cell upon cell to make something more complex than oozing feces?” Nabumot laughed but there was no mirth in it. It was as though he was making the sound for the mere sake of making it. It seemed like the thing to do.

”Mine actions and desires do not surround keeping such a weak creature who carries only the virtue of virginity by the fact that the concept is such a literal and tiny definition that... How is it said? Loopholes are created by replacement orifice. Nay, she shall not be ‘kept’ for any length of time,” said he, his head shaking back and forth sadly as if he were truly feeling the pains of the world falling upon his broad shoulders.

”Could it be that thy thoughts run to becoming the hero of the day and saving this poor wretch from the clutches of the big mean monster?” He asked a true note of curiosity in his tone. ”Or perhaps thou wouldst take my given sacrifice from me for thine own purposes. Hast thou the craving for power that comes from the blood of the... Ostensibly chaste creatures who roam this plane?” Truly, he is becoming curious about the girl. Why not. Perhaps he would toy with her next and see how far her endurance might be pushed. Perhaps. His gaze lingered on the stranger though there might be the impression that he was looking far beyond her. The penetration of his eyes suggested that he had no interest on that which lay without, but that which filled her body and soul within.

Every woman’s dream, is it not? To find a man who will view her for far more than that which the body can provide at face value?
December 13, 2017 09:03 pm
Actives (15) Fresh Blood (5) View All The Fallen (1) Graveyard
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