^Cyra^Tully^D9^[FIN]

Her eyes. Her dead eyes. They watch you. They watch as you take step after step into her entrapment. You are unaware of her silent promise of death. The steps towards your fate, perhaps the last you ever take, lead you into her room. Her vibrant and typical room. With the silk drapes and shag carpet, her room seems like the typical room for a 17 year old. There isn't anything out of place. The variety of trophies speak of a normal childhood for a above average student. There is not a single things that tells you of your impending doom. Except her eyes. Her dead eyes.

"Cyra," she offers her name with a smile. You lean in closer, almost whispering, "Don't you have a last name?" "Tully." Her smile welcome you with a hint of flirtation, and a dash of embarrassment. Her teeth are crooked, but her eyes are a sparkling blue. Her nose is petite, and her hair is a brown curtain. "How old are you?" The question is soft and kind. "17." And she smiles as if she knows she has you hooked.

Your steps falter as she lets go of your hands and turns away. The body is inviting, long legs support at thin frame. At 5' 10" her height is an inviting vessel, but you refrain, not just yet. She smiles at you, once again putting you in a trance, and helps you lie down upon her silk comforter. "Don't worry, my parents aren't around much," With a home like this you can safely assume that daddy is working and mommy is with some kind of side-bar John. Wealth has not brought this family together, torn at their seams, this family has pushed her into your arms.

As you lay down, she gives you a smile, causing her fair skin to wrinkle around her eyes. And the clamps pinch your wrist. Her smile drains away, replaced by a cruel smirk. You laugh, figure its a game, a game for some kind of fetish. But she continues to smirk, a threatening little line on thin lips. "Oh. You silly fucker. I'm gonna love this." Her voice is soft, almost reassuring, but her words are dangerous. You begin to struggle, it was not fun anymore.

She pulls out a gleaming piece of metal, the last piece metal you'll ever see. A long silver piece of death. "Cyra, stop. Please stop. Please don't do anything rash. Stop, no, no. Sto-" the gag is a thick black rag, and smells of the saliva of past victims. Her dead eyes now come dangerously close to your own. Nose almost touching, she says "You sicken me, you sick bastard. I will not make your death easy, you do not deserve a peaceful death."

You struggle, pushing against her soft body, but she still lays upon you. Her charisma that lured you into her embrace is replaced by a seemingly cruel hatred of you. Without her smile she is no longer attractive, rather she seems like the actual devil. Her eyes brows sharpen into points as she raises them, her eyes narrow as she twirls the knife gracefully in her hands.

Her voice is cold, her words colder. "I met some one like you once, a long time ago. He was kind and gentle like you. But what he did was wrong, and unnatural. He hurt me in the worst possible so, I've decided I will hurt all of the people like him. You sick men, who think hurting little girls is okay. I've been looking for you, because I know just how sick you are. So I will kill you slowly, destroy every part of you, let you feel the pain you've inflicted onto those girls."

And the red hot blade of fire enters your leg. And the gag does it's job. Within seconds your torso is covered in blood. "Sush. Screaming won't help. I don't have many friends, and my family is what you may call... dysfunctional. Just know that this is the beginning, no stopping it now. Just know your search for a victim has lead to your death." She smiles as you accept your fate. You were an idiot to think nothing would happen.

You are a sick man. You deserve everything you get. And she makes sure it lasts for as long as possible. The gashes are in the most sensitive areas, but never hit anything vital. Her strokes are perfect, from a great number of victims. You know they all probably deserved it just like you. The vigilante knows that she will be victorious again and again. You know she knows no one will investigate her, with her wealthy family.

"The man who hurt me was the first. I was not just going to accept his touch. I hid the knife in my back pocket and killed him as he reached for me in the alley. Of course this was after months of him degrading me." Now her dead eye make sense, but why her vigilante type ideas. You  wonder, even in your immense pain, what made her decide to kill. She smiles coldly, as if reading your mind, in fact it's likely she understands you better than you understand yourself. "I've never liked being touched, I've had a short fuse since I've been a little kid."

Her hand moves to her ear. Now you see the large scar, and notice a thin one leading into the back of her dress. The thin spiderwebs are now clear, and it's even clearer that the extent of her abuse is greater than you realize. "I guess you have my dad to thank for that." Her head shakes slightly and then returns to you. "But this is about you, isn't it?" The stained metal returns to it's job of bringing forth pain.

Her weapon of choice sinks it way for the final blow. A slow and deliberate push towards your heart. You close your eyes, accepting this death for your disgusting deeds. And when you open them, in her dead blue eyes, you see a flash of life.

Words: 1009
odair