“…killing in the name of…” she who started it all.

Fausille.

Glittering with insanity and a dark, raging beauty. She’s torn between lust of power and love of a certain green eyed sadist. Fausille’s stories are gory and filled with sex, violence and surprisingly…grace.

random story 568-22b & 568-22c I didn’t dare touch himnot yet, not when blood still rushed through that delicious body.His eyes were like smoke against glass as he watched me. The craving was so tangible. It was like the press of lips against my pulse. He said something and I swam from the depths of my obsession to hear him. To watch those lips made for my body curl and arch around words.”Are you going to come with me, then?” His accent, so upper eastern Parisian. I wanted to splash around in his words, to wear his vowels like a gown and the consonants like a headdress. He’d asked me to the coast with him, to the white cliffs of Dover. So relgious, so sacremental. They rose out of the sea like the bones of priests, like the jaw bone of God.”Yes.”He shuddered over that one word, he closed his eyes and swallowed, as if my voice were sweet poisonous candy, as if nothing mattered behind the blades of my expression, behind the murderous intent of my need. They fell in love with the voice, they died and lived and died again for the voice. And in the throes of passion… the felt the dangerous lips and deadly teeth that the voice was trapped behind. For more than most it would be the last time. But him…He had something I wanted, he was more than possibly the one…the One…”Alright…”He opened his eyes again, and there was more than craving. There was more than desire, there was more than that cunning facination.He gave me a date and time, rolling out of my bed and striding naked to the closet where I’d hung his clothing the night before.He was long bodied, the muscles of his legs bunching and streaching as he moved, his ass was panels of meaty muscles his back was like a riverbed, smooth and curved, perfect.I had to close my eyes.Under all that skin of perfection was red and white, glossy bones and wet slick meat, the pumping of a heart… opening and closing like butterfly wings.I wait until he is fully gone before moving. I wait until this little rented room is silent before rolling back and forth upon the bed like a puppy.His scent.His scent.I coat myself in it, streaching and reaching, smearing it like an invisable lanoline.I tear his pillow from the case, hug the limp fabric to my body, press my face into the warmth and growl, low and thrumming sending shockwaves through my chest. As if it were rippling along my ribcage.I am lost.I am lost within him.And this is how Limmere finds me.His laugh.Looking up into those lavender and sage eyes, I think of the perfect meal served over wild rice.”You’re so adorable, Fausille.” He said moving closer, tempting me. I clutched the pillowcase against my face again, hiding all but my eyes.He wore a slate gray suit, the shirt underneath was just the palest shade of flesh, almost pink. It brought out the shades of those dimpled lips. I wanted…I wanted…”Why Fausille, no quips? No witty comeback?” He was scented with something strangely vanilla, something delicate and edible.I.Want.”I’m surprised, I must be losing my shock appeal.”I lowered the pillowcase to my lap, exposing my breasts to him, his eyes dropped.And that one moment of faux submission was all I needed.I had him pinned under me, my true form ripping from the casement of humanity, bloody shards… my vision became bloody shards.I don’t know where the pounce became anything more I don’t remember when I sank my teeth into him, I don’t recall anything other than the want…the want…He shifted under me, fangs met fangs with a saber like ringing. Soft gray material was covered with the icor of shapeshifting. Limmere fought like a murderer… Limmere fought like his life was on the line. We parted, I drew back with blood bubbling from a wound in my throat, my nose filled with liquid and I gagged, tilting my head down and hacking. Limmere lept slamming me against the bed, knocking the mattress off the boxspring. My head in his jaws. He shook me like a rat, back and forth until I went limp. Until I played dead. My lungs were filling with blood. He let me go and I fell, shifting back into my own body, my tongue cold.I lifted a hand to my cheek, it had been ripped… hanging by threads of muscle…I could touch my teeth through the blood.Limmere stood over me, those sage and lavender eyes burning.Rage, simple rage.His amber colored coat was slick with blood, my blood.It wasn’t until he shifted that I saw what little damage I’d done to him.Minor bites around his throat, his belly clawed and gaping but not disembowled.I coughed and phlem flew from where my left cheek should have been. I whimpered low in my throat, pain blinded me.”He commands you.” Limmere said, hissing the words through bloody teeth…again, my blood. “You listen, Fausille, you cannot help but listen.”He looked down at his ruined suit. “I can belive that you didn’t mean me true harm, I’ve seen you kill others more skilled than me, I’ve seen you carve your name into the jawbones of killers more powerful than me.”Looking back at me there was pain in his eyes.”Go to him, Fausille, go to him you oh so obediant bitch-hound. Go.”

—-

RANDOM Fau/Lim 1″I seem to recall,” he says without looking at me, he peers into his brandy sniffer as if his reflection in the amber depths will remind him. “You weren’t always so viscious.”

I blinked, slowly and wet my lips, coming up on my elbow to look at him. I was lounging on his bed, draped across the black fur blankets, my long white body glowing in the moonlight. I’d arranged myself like a sacrifice, all smooth angles and yeilding flesh… but Limmere had not looked at me.

not once.

My ire rose and I slipped out of the bed. I jerked his sage green robe from the back of the door and pulled it on, the silk whispered against my skin and I wished for a moment that it was his lips that told me such delectable things and breathed against such private places.

“You’ve become an old man Limmere, what with your constant hunting and trapping of memories.”

I wanted to scoff, but something in his profile paused me. Something in the tension in his hand as he swirled the brandy with false gentleness. I walked towards him, on the balls of my feet as if I expected him to spin on me and fling the liquor.

“I have become an old man.” he told me, his voice was soft and fragile, like the wings of lunar moths. I felt almost as if I brushed against his voice it would flake off and I would be coated in vowels and dusted with adjectives.

I scoffed then, curling my lip into a well practised sneer and tossing my head. “Is the consumate killer feeling sorry for himself?” I asked him, my voice sharper than I expected, almost shrill. He turned his face into the moonlight, away from me. His dusty gold eyebrows were pulled down and his eyes were closed tight.

“You never…” he started before looking at me again, “you’ve never been like this before, Fausille… you’re hard, you’re no longer dreaming through the bloodshed.”

I laughed then and his full mouth tightened until the lines of his face were jagged and I could imagine myself slicing my fingers on the arches of his cheekbones.

“You sound like Nikki.” I told him, “I am who you have created, Limmere, through all your schemes through all your plots, through all your dirty work you have moulded me into the perfect blood thirsty, man hunting lusus. I am the beast you have desired, I am the monster of your wildest dreams.” I flowed towards him, dropping the sage silk robe like theatric curtains. “Enjoy me.”

To say the expression that crossed this face was distaste would be an understatement. I froze, wide eyed and staring as his expression melted from revulsion to pity.

it was the pity that enraged me.

I turned from him before I could harm him, before I could shred this night from the sky and ravage his face with stars.

“Fausille,” he said before I’d made it halfway to the door, he used the Voice, conjoling and imploring. I obeyed and paused, head down and shoulders shuddering my rage and my beast like twin fires… I could feel the muscles in my back as the shivered and and tensed, prepared to fight even though his voice was promises.

“Do you remember how it was before?” he asked me and all the tension left my body, leaving me standing there naked and cold. I swallowed down the hopelessness I heard in his voice and turned.

“Yes Limmere.” I said not moving towards him. He still held the brandy, still swirled it but it was an absent gesture as if he’d forgotten the liqour.

“I didn’t mean for you to become my enforcer. I didn’t mean for your entire life to revolve around exacting punishment.” He glanced down at the brandy in his hand and after a moment carefully placed it on a side table. I noticed for the first time Limmere wasn’t wearing shoes. His black shining leather dress shoes were absent in thier place were a pair of lavender and caramel colored argyle socks. Socks I’d bought for him on a Father’s Day almost 15 years before. The last Father’s Day we’d ever celebrated with me as his ward.

My eyes lept to his face again and he held my stare. “Limmere?” He took a deep breath and came towards me, he moved like a preditor, he moved like something too large in the small space of the room. He pushed rememberance before him like the crested wave of a ship.

Long before Limmere came to this city where murder and grace are dubious bedmates he was a contract killer. He enough money to put his brother through art school and himself through law.

I found it ironic. He chewed his way through several law firms, becoming senior partner only to move on to a more prominant firm and decimate the corporate ladder there as well. But before that…

before that there was Limmere, his bike, his beast, and his rage.

—-

RANDOM STORY tiiNEL-344sedTShe touched her tongue to her teeth, tilting her head just so.

Her neck was a long pale arch, the curve of her shoulder perfect for the weight of wings, but she was without feathers.

He snapped another picture, the flash bleached her skin and made her wide eyes seem a thousand miles deep.

She lowered her eyes and again that thunderous snap of light, followed by the whine of the bulb.

She moved like something without bones.

I stood off to the side, watching it all with dark eyes half narrowed. The model wasn’t my focus, the photographer though…

His hands were large, a working man’s hands that belied the delicacy with which he handled the camera. He ran a hand through his hair, spiking it up and mussing it. His brows lowered, disliking the angle of the model’s jaw.

Such minor imperfections.

I moved from the shadows, catching his attention he raised his face, expression going from irate to furious… until he recognised me.

“Fausille…” he said, leaving the model to stew in the light refected by silver and black umbrellas. He came to me, kissing my cheeks. Tender touches of gentle lips, behind which dangerous teeth lay. “You’ve been away.” he said running his hands down the sleeves of my leather jacket to my hands which he clasped. “I’ve missed you, the camera has missed you.”

I smiled slowly. “I have missed you Sheffian.” I told him, he shivered.

They all shivered, they fell in love with the beast… no matter what they were.

“Will you allow me the honor…?” he asked motioning towards the dias that the model had sprawled on, but she no longer sprawled, she sat up, expression melting from vapid beauty to angelic rage. She was much more engaging that way. I nodded my ascent and slipped out of the long leather jacket, I wore nothing underneath save for a black silk sheath and tall black boots.

Sheffian gasped, then groaned taking my jacket from me and touching one hand to my hip, curling his fingers around. Those large hands were cool against my flesh.

Sheffian had yet to feed. “You smell of life, blood, and death.” he told me, whispering against my hair, breathing me in.

“You stink of lust.” I told him, watching the model over Sheffian’s shoulder as he moved into me, pressing my long body against his, she’d come to her feet.

Primadonna au fresco, I thought smiling as Sheffian’s lips touched the thrusting beat of my heart just below my ear.

“SHEFFIAN!” She bellowed. He ignored her, one heavy hand sliding from my neck to the tilt of my hips, pulling me fully in against him. The silk was thin, I could feel him through both the rough texture of his denim and the cool fabric of my sheath. Hard, but then…he was always hard, it didnt’ mean that he was ready.

She called him a second time as his fingers slid under the thin straps of my black silk and pulled them down. He turned to her then with a growling noise under his breath that only I could hear.

“You are finished for the day, Julleanne.” he told her, releasing me.

She stomped one foot about to create damage with her tongue, but I stopped her.

Moving so that she could see my face clearly I dropped the mask, I let go of the meager strands of humanity that tied me, though weakly, to her world. The beast rose, arched, and flaired through the room like a flash fire. I bared my teeth in a mockery of a smile…and she ran.

Trailed closely by Sheffian’s robust hungry laughter.

—-

Random Fausille RP 8I find myself drawn to him.

I find myself wanting to burrow somewhere below his heart but above his belly… so I can bathe in both his love and his hunger.

His mussed hair enchants me, his bright eyes haunt me.

he’s so close to death, each time he moves his head, each time he turns his eyes away… I want to shred him, I want to lay waste, I want to destroy and recreate.

I do nothing.

he has the joy of being Limmere’s little plaything, his new found illustrated savior. Limmere’s loyalties are fickle, but his punishments are epic.

I will not chance coming under Limmere’s brazen, furious, all consuming gaze… again.

I tell the boy to lay down, I tell him with the Voice behind the command. How cruel that he can only obey, no matter how deep down inside he wants to flee

no matter how deep down inside he knows it will only be a matter of time before I’m licking clean the bones of his skull for display.

we all know our death when we see it. We all recognise our mortality even when it smiles, even when it touches us gently with love, even when it lies to us with adoration.

which is what this is.

adoration

lies

I wonder how deeply this will go? Will he fill me? Will he be the one to burrow under my skin and fill me with the parasites of fulfillment so that I may become bloated and lazy no longer roaming the night like a blowfly in search of fresh corpses?

I don’t believe he will be.

he will be another unhappy endevor… I fall to my knees beside him, intent on punishment.

Before he can dissapoint I will dissassmeble. That is how it must be…

Limmere be damned.

—–

Random Story: 6658-jeFFn3I shook my head, declining to answer.

I didn’t know anything.

I swore.

Turning away from the bright lights and cameras I went back into the cold office building and tried to ration my breaths.

Fausille had struck again.

Her rampage was wicked and messy, it was like she was killing for no reason now… the media hounds had sniffed me out for somehow it had been found out that for one summer Fausille had taken me as a lover.

one summer.

just one.

Three months of terror and blood…

I was the only one to make it out, I was the only one who made it through to breathe again.

and now I measure my breaths. One by one. Because I know she’ll come back. She’s going to steal them all.

I closed the door of my office and flopped across a leather chair, hands to my face. My office was autere and darkly furnished… like a tasteful bad dream… like a nightmare with money to burn. I had candle sticks made of femurs and statues made of hip bones, all guilded and glossed… no one ever knew.

My cufflinks were the knuckle bones of an urban saint, my tie pin was a dainty sliver of a G-rib from a woman who’d danced as gracefully as the moon rose.

I wore it all, I displayed it all… for Fausille would have it no other way.

She sent me these little items, I know somewhere in her dark lair she was laughing, head back and throat working as she crafted these morbid gifts…

I knew though, that I would be punished if I didn’t flaunt her murders for her. She kept an eye on me, she knew my movements and I could swear she did more than lurk in the night.

She was a nightmare, a curse, a fiend.

and I loved her.

for all her bloody rampages.

I loved her.

—–

Random Story #453 Preacher ManSometimes.

Fausille turned her face away from the sunlight that filtered weakly through the filthy windows of this abandoned warehouse.

She looked up at the man on the ledge above her, her black eyes soulless, pitiless, inhuman.

Sometimes I.

He was talking to the masses of youth below him. Stuck between adult hood and abuse.

Drugs and sex, lust and death, horror and nonchalance it was a wicked scent that rose off the croud like a blue funk.

Sometimes I don’t.

She lowered her eyes, listening to the man orate to his little army of drug snarled post-children.

Limmere had sent her here. This druglord had risen too fast, too quickly. He preached to his subjects, pretended love and adoration to his students, kissed lax and numbed lips and turned them into hollow eyed fanatics who would gladly kill… for him.

No one on the street feared Limmere like they should and his rule was slipping. He wasn’t the largest cock on the hill with this Preacher Man in town.

Sometimes I don’t want.

Fausille caught the eye of a man halfway across the huge room. Preacher Man’s words bounced along the walls and against the windows, and Fausille had to fight to not try and reach up… snag them… tear them out of the sky… pry them apart and see what was inside.

The man-boy across from her lowered his head so that his greasy hair fell into his eyes.

too bright.

too alert.

too wild to be one of the Preacher Man’s apostles.

He was working with her on this job and Fausille wondered after it. If Limmere was growing to not trust her, if he was seeing through the facade…

Sometimes I don’t want to be.

With one last ruby explosion the sun outside winked out. Fausille’s mind lept and she had to keep from losing focus. The sun blinked out like an apocolypse.

She expected the walls to crumble and the horsemen of Revelation to offer her a ride.

But no such thing.

“…my dark children of the night…” broke through and Fausille had enough of the Preacher Man’s voice.

She tossed back her head and roared, the greasy man-child echoed her… and the killing began.

Sometimes I don’t want to be the Monster.

—-

Random Story: SheffianThere’s something about his eyes.

In pictures, his favorate medium, they come across as too wide, too bright, too shocking.

Like stars cast from heaven and saved in hell.

In real life they are swift and beautiful, cunning and smart. Coy when he wants them to be which isn’t often. Sheffian is anything but coy.

He lowers his head to drink and I watch from half a room away, there is utter silence as he raises his head, lips bloody and eyes half closed in bliss.

His hair is down, adding a romantic glaze to this beastial ceremony. I hear a woman in the small crowd gasp, as if she too can feel the power, lust, vengance, love, sex, blood coursing through his veins.

He’s gotten this entire crowd inthrall. Rich fucks and wealthy whores… all of them.

I sip my wine and give an wicked little smile. I’m in good company.

Sheffian opens his eyes fully and looks around the room. His fangs are tinted faintly pink and his lips look like they’ve been rouged

Sheffian made these public feedings so very messy. He gave these vouyers thier money’s worth.

At his feet, looking like a reject from some romance novel herself was a slender woman with her hair done up in massive sausage curls. She wore a white linen underdress and a corset made of some slightly rough looking material… there was blood on the aged lace… her breasts moved just slightly under thier bondage, just enough to show that she was still alive.

One of the rules… Sheffian could abuse, but not kill. That amused me.

He was an amusement, my beautiful vampire, he did these little ‘dinner parties’ as a sort of guilty pleasure.

It was too much like bear baiting for me.

Sheffian had showed me a ‘flyer’ that one of the women who’d attended what I liked to call a “malicious tupperware party”, Sheffian had looked like a preditory male model as he hunched over a nameless female, her blouse was torn and her throat had two neat wounds “Monster of New York!” the flyer had said, reminicent of some slash pulp fiction title of the ’50’s.

He had a sort of backwards celebrity, his nightlife was that of a rockstar with groupies and ‘gigs’ and during the day he photographed the… well, not the beautiful people. Modern models were strange gangly creatures with more edges than curves.

He caught my eye from across the room and puckered his lips into a kiss before turning back to the crowd. He purred an invitation and another woman sighed, half swooning as he stepped over the body at his feet and took her in his arms. The woman was a hard faced blonde who I’d seen once before speaking to Limmere in low urgent tones about the senator’s most recent ‘upset’.

Sheffian held her like a lover, as if he was used to her body… it was an act, but he pulled it off well. He wouldn’t bite her, it was forbidden, but he spilled his power over her like a warm rain and I wondered if it was like an orgasm… this sudden liquid rush.

He worked the crowd, telling them some tale that may or may not have been the truth… he told of a laird on a remote isle falling in love with the daughter of a gypsy…so far fetched and forlorn was his tale that I stopped listening, instead I watched the moon eyed vistages of the women around me.

The fell into his tale of loss, love, and yearning willingly and I didn’t envy them. To be so utterly befuddled… by choice…shoudl be a sin.

I blinked the room back into focus when I realised that most of the women were looking at me instead of Sheffian. He’d turned away from the room and towards the windows where night was a lurking presence against the glass.

“… she danced, oh how she danced… the fire turned her pale skin to gold and her black hair into something made of silk and fur… her eyes…” he described with curling and elongated words his lost love, looking tormented and grief stricken as he did so, he finally spun towards the room and his eyes slowly roved the crowd… as if he was searching… searching… searching.

His gaze fell upon me and I gave him the tiniest of headshakes but he was too far into the tale as he stalked towards me.

“Meguynne?” he asked, pulling me to my feet, I heard a woman catch her breath and give a tiny sob. I shook my head agian, more fierce this time, narrowing my eyes and baring my teeth at him.

“Have you lost your mind?” I asked, too low to be heard. Sheffian smirked then pressed me to his body, crying out in an agony of ecstacy too overdone to be believed. Or not. I heard a few women burst into tears as I hugged him back, digging my nails into his skin.

He pressed his face into my hair and I snorted. “I thought your lady love was a redheaded daughter of a Norse warlord?” I muttered into his ear, his laugh was just a ghost against my skin.

“whatever it takes.” he whispered and I laughed, once…a bright and shining noise as he pulled me into a kiss.

—–

Random: To Begin (part 9)I drop to all fours, shaking off the ribbons of what had once been an ebony on jet silk and cashmere pantsuit.

The ribbons are sodden and heavy with old, congealing blood.

Earlier in the night I’d done Limmere’s will and had devoured the heart of a woman who had the bad grace to be a beloved of one of his enemies. She’d begged and pleaded, hands to her belly, bargaining for the life of her unborn child.

I simply smiled and took her head.

The moon was scudding through the sky, leaving behind it a wake of dirty looking clouds, cold air ruffled my fur and I shuddered all over, fangs bared.

Just behind me I could hear the city. I’d lept the high wall and had landed quietly in a faux jungle. In solitary cages lions roared, a zebra gave a nasal cry, and an elephant trumpeted his desire.

The the wind shifted, tossing my scent to them, flinging it through the air and setting thier senses on fire.

I padded through the zoological gardens, a black shape on a cloudy night. Belly low and yellow eyes flashing.

Exotic birds in thier silo looking enclosures took flight, circular patterns of fright. I snapped at a crimson and jade feather that fluttered past my nose, but these delights on the lamb weren’t the reason I’d come.

I cut through the abnormal and small homes of the herd animals, causing gazelles to squeel in alarm; springbocks, with thier saytr horns glittering in the moonlight and black racing stripes, leapt like agile performance cars.

Though I slavered at the thought of thier warm, salty, frightened flesh and thier heavy, glistening bones… I did not come for them.

Panthera pardus.

He sat upon a rock, looking at me through the mesh and distance his spotted, cream and onyx coat looking smudged in the halfdark. I sat down as well, watching him.

We’ve had this ritual for a while, everyfull moon he sat on the nearest rock, waiting for me. We’d sit for a while then I’d leave. My own form of communion with the creature I was…and yet was not. I was pure black, so dark that my highlights were beyond blue and at least twice his size. He, being a city zoo animal, lived in a daze of drugs and bad diet… he dreamed of streatching his body… running through long amazon grasses warmed by the baleful eye of a sungod that was reported to look just like him.

I was Ka-Ata-Killa to his golden Inti.

I’d come to visit, once, during the day in my human form.

He’d come out of his hiding, walked to the nearest stone… and stared at me before pulling his lips back to expose old ivory fangs. His cry was one of warning, yearning… and betrayal.

I’d never come back as human again.

I’ve had dreams of setting him free, letting him wreck havoc allowing him to stretch his legs and allow him to feel something other than this infernal city beneth his paws.

Standing, I streatched to him, yawning wide. Showing my contempt.

His whole world was behind the bars of his cage, freedom would be damnation. I made my way out moving slowly through the undergrowth. For a moment … my head was filled with the woman’s cries… then the leopards deadened, trapped eyes from behind the gating…

then the sound of Limmere, laughing…

—–

Random: The Division pt. 1 (82105)Limmere brought me the girl early in the evening. His call almost 3 hours earlier was hasty and garbled. I’d never heard Limmere sound so very flustered.

He came to my door just as the storm was breaking, holding in his arms a tiny whirlwind. She was crying and cold with raindrops caught in her yellow gold hair. He handed her to me and then left, slamming the door behind him. The child squirmed about in my arms and held her small hands towards the door, screaming ‘PAPA! PAPA!’ in a thin quavering voice.

Her accent was easy to place, it was a bastardised version of mine. Her French was hiccuped and it tripped off her tongue like glazed fruits. Succulent and devourable. I wanted to kiss those perfect down turned baby lips, they were the color of strawberries.

I almost flung the child on the couch, horrorfied at the emotions that stirred low in my belly. I wanted to comfort her and find comfort in her.

She was a miniature of her father, perfect down to her tiny fingers with thier miniscule pink nails.

I let her scream and cry until she fell asleep, she was a mop of crushed ruffles and tangled pigtails, curled up on a black leather couch in the middle of a living room that housed the skulls of my victims. The skulls were lined on the windowsill behind her, they’d been modified to hold ceramic pots, she was lost in the morbidity of my design.

I watched her through the night, crouched in my own living room almost huddled on the carpet, my head cocked and my arms around my knees.

She woke up at first light, when watery sunlight leaked through my windows and traced warm looking patterns on the blood colored rugs.

“Where is my papa?” she asked me. I didn’t answer.

Stunned.

Her left eyes was lavender, the right was a pale cool green.

“Where is my papa?” she asked me again, her pale face going red. For a moment I was afraid she’d go into another screaming fit, I was afraid that her tears would turn her face redder and she’s never be quiet.

I was afraid I’d have to drug her to quell her.

I wasn’t prepared for her to launch herself at me, fingers curled into perfect little claws.

I reacted, jolting back and hissing. She missed me by mere inches, landing on the carpet infront of me her little teeth bared. “WHERE. IS. MY. PAPA!?” she bellowed and I blinked at her, standing.

She kicked me in the shin.

I was appalled.

I am Fausille. I am death. I am preditor.

I was being laid siege to by a toddler.

She came at me again and I batted her aside. For a long moment she was just a jumble of ruffles and bows. I feared I’d broken her little fool neck.

She sat up and wet her lips, smoothing her hands over her hair before raising her eyes to me and snarling. Her face was no longer red, it had gone pale and tight with fury. “You will never do that again.”

Taken by surprise I laughed and crouched again, better to see her head on, those amazing eyes were deadly. She glared as if violent murder was the nicest thing that she could think of doing to me.

“Then you will never fling yourself at me again, welp.” I told her using the Voice and watching those eyes glaze over so slightly. “If you do, I cannot be held responcible for the things which will occur.”

She shook her head, as if surfacing from deep water. “Where is Papa?” she asked, voice as contained as a duchess. “He shouldn’t have left me with you, you are violent.”

My laughter made her flinch.

—–

Random: Nickolaus 45b-9 (we81705)Fausille licked white frosting off her fingertips, her sinful black eyes were half closed and glowng as pale pink roses disentagrated on her tongue.

The wedding cake was half gone, the ivory fondant was splattered with scarlet… I swallowed and averted my face as Fausille swept another pink rose off the cake and lapped at it.

Lazy. Somnambulant. Cat-like.

I despised her almost as much as I feared her.

Her white linen pants suit was spotless as was the wide satin sash that tied at her throat like a silken rose. Her inky hair was pulled up in a dramatic chignon, highlighted by a silvery white spray of baby’s breath.

She looked angelic and demon possessed all at once.

Surrounded at all sides by the bodies of the dead celebrants.

The bride was a mess of inner organs and crystal-blue colored crepe and her wedding party was nothing more than ribbons, bows, blood and gore.

Blood dripped from tissue paper bells that hung from the ceiling, it slid down the walls in runnels, blood pooled at my feet. It was cooling slowly, it was clotting thickly.

The groom howled in agony, on his knees in the razed fete, his black tux slowly turning a darker shade of purple as it soaked up the fluids on the now scarred and pitted dance floor.

His golden hair was plastered to the side of his face and tears tracked through the mess… for a moment I could only see him as a weeping clown.

I turned away.

Fausille’s eyes met mine, gone was the half sleeping, glutted, prideful, maliciously beautiful innattention. She was utterly and completely focused upon me.

I wet my lips and was instantly reminded that I was covered with cold blood. I had been standing too close to the door when Fausille had entered the dance hall. I’d been masqurading as a joyful member of the guest list, waiting… expecting…

Fausille had entered like a goddess reigning.

There is something in the human psyche that remembers being hunted. Fausille brings those memories to the fore, she does so effortlessly. There’s something in her eyes that warns you, there’s something in her movement that admonishes you. ‘Run,’ it says ‘run and I promise it won’t hurt as bad.’

She’d cut through the party like a wolf through spring lambs.

I’d found Fausille through word of mouth, I’d hired her to do just this… I’d paid for her and wreck havoc upon the bride for stealing the love of a man that I’d adored since childhood.

I’d had bloody musings for this valentine wedding. I’d pretended and play acted for the year leading up to this day. I was to be the maid-of-honor, the best friend of the glowing beautiful woman that had made a fool of me, who’d beaten me.

She’d married Nickolaus, she’d won his heart, she’d pay.

Now, though, with Fausille pinning me with her empty black eyes I didn’t feel triumphant. I felt fear. It coiled up from my belly and loins and snaked around my heart and throat.

“WHY!?” screamed Nickolaus suddenly, he surged to his feet and sprang at Fausille. “Why Fausille? Why!?”

The black haired woman never looked away from me, she kept her eyes upon mine as she answered him. I couldn’t make out the words at first… all I heard was a low, sudden, throbbing buzzing. I stared at Fausille instead of looking at Nickolaus.

I had no idea they knew each other.

I had no idea that the beast I’d hired knew the man who held my heart in his hands.

“I was hired,” Fausille said, her voice holding tinges of amusement. One black brow arched up and her full red lips quirked at the corners as Nickolaus howled again, his head tossed back and agony twisting his mouth.

“NO!” he screamed, almost crumpling again. “Limmere… Limmere promised me… he said he’d allow me this! HE PROMISED ME!”

Nickolaus’ voice cracked and I looked at him. He was staring up at Fausille through his half blood mask, one lavender and sage eye was all I could see through the caking blood and matting hair.

Sanity sounded far and away at the moment as he held his bloody hands up to Fausille, as if he were begging her to give back the lives she’d violently pilfered.

“Limmere didn’t send me.” Fausille said, almost laughing at this point as she cocked her head, her eyes never wavering. I could feel her stare like heavy coals against my skin.

“He…he didn’t?” asked Nickolaus, voice wavering and cracking…like a frightened child questioning comfort.

“No. He did not.”

Slowly Nickolaus looked at me, it was as if his neck was on faulty ball bearings. It was like watching stop motion animation. I expected his neck to creak like rusted gears.

Fausille giggled.

Strangely childish.

Visciously devilish.

“Oh, darling Nikki,” she said, her voice was lilting and joyous. “Our little girl here loves you!” she made the words mocking and painful, I took a step backwards as I turned to look at Fausille, this wasn’t what we’d agreed upon! She promised not to tell who’d paid to have the bride murdered!

Fausille winked as if we were sharing the largest secret ever. “Oh, I’ll never tell…” Fausille told me, sotto-voce. I looked back at Nickolaus, backing away again slowly shaking my head and wincing as cold clotted blood slapped me in the face.

Nickolaus’ eyes had lost thier woe and bitter agony.

His eyes were empty, his stance had gone from pleading to slightly hunched and as I watched his lip pulled back from white teeth… teeth that had gone gleaming and suddenly sharp.

A low growl strummed the air and my throat closed, I couldn’t scream… I couldn’t even gasp as Nickolaus shifted his weight and seemed to melt into a strange slumped, lurching creep towards me.

“She would do anything for you Nikki,” Fausille continued. “Even go so far as to kill… by proxy of course.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I couldn’t… Nickolaus’ eyes had a strange yellow gleam to them, all other colors leaked away until his eyes were glowing and neon gold.

I spun and fled, the sound of Fausille’s voice behind me… she was laughing… oh god, how she laughed …. and Nickolaus….

Nickolaus was roaring my name.

—-