I slow as I reach the door, wary, fingers reaching from all sides, caressing my skin, grasping at my limbs and tangling in my hair. It brought such different sensations, chief among them anger. The deviant sickos who injected me with who knew what had no idea what they’d done. There was a volcano of rage inside me that had reached the boiling point, and I stalked into the shadows on the other side, stealing along in the dark.
There they were, like living patchwork dolls, standing shoulder to shoulder, arms about one another’s waists, a muffled giggle escaping from their ravaged lips. They thought I was amusing? I snarled deep in my throat, the vibration rumbling in my bones. Behind me the door slammed, loud, an explosion of sound in the silence. Did I do that? Yes, oh lovely, more carnage to be had. Perhaps the psychos paid to torture me had some idea after all. I called in the gloom, with my mind, for my Pretties, hearing them sing back to me.
Gliding through the air, my blades have found their way to me, the sharpest of metals sliding through the air, slight slices along the length of my fingers, feeding them first blood. It feels like coming home, to have their rubied hafts rest cold against my palms. I smile most gently, most dangerously, with venom.
The non-nurses flinch back, in unison, hands to their crudely sewn mouths. Such delight it gives me. Creeping towards them, feeding on their shock, I crouch. The animal inside growled, and I was pleased. Yes, my Monster would make quick work of them but I want them to suffer…