eyvor summit /. district seven [wip]

eyvor summit /. district seven [wip] Feb 20, 2016 0:51:55 GMT -5

Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Feb 20, 2016 0:51:55 GMT -5

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Ichor. It fell like raindrops. It was hot against my skin, like rivulets of liquid fire rolling down my arms and branching off into little streams along my fingers. It burned, but not as harshly as the sun against flesh fair as mine. It burned, softly, as a flickering flame, soft and golden, upon a candlewick, burns against the darkness of a still night. I bathed myself in it, lathered it across my skin, its crimson color seeping in and washing me pink after it dried.

I never felt sorry-
perhaps it is dark of me, to have empty eyes as I soaked my hands in blood, but I have grown numb to the burn of black blood in my own veins. It burned and burned and burned- until I could feel nothing at all. There was a spark within me, alight in my chest as I tangled my fingers into the insides I had ripped out. It was a light- and they say light is benevolence, but it was not a light of the heavens. It was fire- vicious, relentless, merciless.

What makes a human does not make me.

Sometimes I tell myself that I didn't want to do it. Sometimes I tell myself that I had to.
But I know that it's all lies.

I killed him because I could, because I wanted to.

-- ✖ --

I have always been very clean.

Perhaps that is why I have gotten away with it.

I like to be clean- I do not like how the blood feels on my hands. Once, in primary school, I played with a pen and snapped it in two and let the ink ooze onto my fingers. It was thick and sticky and the smell made my nostrils burn. Blood feels the way ink does, and when it drenches me, I want to crawl out of my own skin. That night when I took his life, I scrubbed my hands again and again and set my clothes aflame.

But I do like its smell. There is nothing quite like it- it is sharp and metallic and there is something about it that sets it apart from everything else. (Perhaps because it is a fragrance far too familiar to me.)

I was careful in my pursuit. I wanted to get close to my victim, first, to know them. To talk to the monster, to look into their eyes and see the void. There is something about the chase I find so irresistibly enthralling, but it is the kill that I cherish most of all.

It must have given dealers quite a shock when a customer such as myself came to them- doe eyes, unruly blonde and blue hair, smeared liner- buying rohypnol. With my victim, I would get close to them, slip it into their drink while they weren't looking, get them alone when the effects set in, and drag them through a system of underground tunnels. I am unsure who created the labyrinth that runs under a small portion of District Seven, cutting into the alleys and into the woods, I just know where they lead. Sometimes when I am walking walking walking through the darkness of the labyrinth, I make up the story of how it came to be and what happened there in the past. Perhaps a gang of thieves used them to transport loot, or perhaps it was another murderer like me.