Copyright ©Melanie McCurdie 2013/12/18
There is a Blood Moon in the sky, calling me forth from my dwelling. The smell of fresh spilled Elixir of Life is strong in my nose, igniting the hunger. My skin writhes, crawls with need. I crave My Prey, every fiber singing along with Scythe, but he is far and gone from me tonight, so I will feed on these souls,
A campfire burns in the distance, dancing and cavorting like a live creature, drawing shadows on the ground, trapped in its stone circle. A ragtag group of travellers weary from the road no doubt. Fools. They dare settle for the night in my space. Their laughter is a violation to my ears, a banshee scream in my mind.
Night has not yet fallen, dusk settling on the world like dust coloured lace. I am free to move about, safe in my Darkness knowing that I am dim to the mortals. If they saw me, I would gladly and with malicious pleasure, rip their eyes from the sockets, like pitting a cherry. And it would be delicious.
I count 5, a veritable buffet. Scythe shivers in my hand, and I soothe her with the sight of my prey approaching, unaware of his doom. He is a handsome youth, shaggy blond curls, contrasting most interestingly with his dark complexion. His almond coloured eyes fearful as he leaves the safety of the firelight. He is right to be afraid. I will devour him.
My appearance is changed, as have I been. My visage is the same, some things I cannot change, but for the unnatural blue of my eyes, I would appear a lost and wandering woman, looking for warmth in the cold night. But for Scythe, I’d appear an innocent. I could not leave Her behind on a bounty as this. Such would be blasphemy.
My mouth is filled with need, as I creep closer, drifting in my dimness, nearly invisible in the deepening dusk. He senses me, freezing in his tracks, and staring in terror filled wonder as I step from the shadows. I whirl about him, my bare thighs flashing as Scythe cleaves the flesh from his bones, his blood splattering my face and breasts. It tastes delightful, a mix of innocence and berries. His head flies upwards, catching his hair in the branches of my home.
For a moment, his body stands, not understanding that it was dead. Then it collapses in a raw and bloody heap. Good. Scythe is crooning and my black heart throbs. She is lovely when She is happy. We turn back towards the flickering light of the campfire. Male voices, low and strong, without a fear in the world. That would change. Death Maiden is Fear, and I would gladly end the sorry lives of these intruders into my forced solitude.
The shadows are deep, an inky cloak of moving darkness. I hear one of them say, Blood on The Moon, a bad omen my friends. They have little idea how right they are. From behind me I hear a strange voice, oddly accented, bidding me hello. I smile the taste of the youth’s blood still on my lips. Turning towards him, Scythe quivers gently. I know what She wants. This one will be saved for later. Dessert.
He is strangely marked, odd runes imbedded in his skin. This is confusing to me. He has a crooked smile, endearing to some I suppose, full of smug self confidence. Yes, this one would suffer most heinously, and it would please me. His blue eyes startle at the sight of my own, their colour not found in any palate. Again, he bids me hello and I nod, smile widening slightly. My fingers, still streaked in crimson, reach to stroke his cheek, marking it with long streaks. I’d really like to scratch the skin from it, but refrain, for now.
He takes this an invitation, to touch me and I snarl deep in my throat, a warning to those intelligent enough to understand. He does not stop, and I find his lips upon mine, hand in my scarlet hair. I bite his lip, tearing it with my teeth, my hand firmly around his throat, effectively cutting off any cry he might make, any noise that might bring the others. I prefer this to be private. His eyes widen and he pulls me closer, my hips flat against his. This creature is most confusing, and is arousing my curiosity, and my hunger. With a slight increase in pressure on his windpipe, he drops like a rock at my feet. Scythe moans wanting to taste as well, and I press my lips to her blade, leaving bloody lip marks.
Quickly I bind and gag him, dragging him easily to the side of the travelling wagon just out of the fires light. Dessert, yes, this pleases me. My attention is then drawn to the next prey. He sees me in the shadows, this is not possible. His face is odd, as though it is a mask of what should be. His lips curve up in appreciation and encouragement. This creature wants me to slay. Oh….my body tingles at the thought of being watched while Feed. His eyes flick over to the fire, where two sit staring as if they’d never seen a woman before. One of them casts a leer my way, elbowing his friend sitting beside him.
I glance over my shoulder at the masked man. He’s watching most intently, as though waiting to see my reaction. I smile his way, my skin vibrating. This was not prey. This creature was something more. The sound of whispering interrupts my thoughts. These dimwitted fools dare touch me. Hands grasp my upper arms, one covering my mouth, as though I’d shriek in fear. Scythe falls to the ground, howling in fury at this violation, her song clanging in the night air.
My talons bite deeply into the thigh of closest of the men, tearing and shredding the muscle closes to the groin. I feel a gush of warmth over my hand and the hand is gone from my face. The other grunts in shock and releases me. I dig deeply into his eyes, shattering his skull and piercing the brain beyond it. I close my fingers, feeling the tender tissue puree under the force of my grasp. Pulling my hand free of his now ruined mind, he falls to the ground, body shivering.
Prey is moaning by the dying fire, holding his wounded leg. The sound makes my mouth water, and I watch his agony as bend to pick up Scythe. She is irate, nearly jumping into my hand as I reach for Her. I whisper to her as I approach the now screaming man. His fear is most satisfying to my senses. The Mask is has crept nearer for a closer look. I watch him for a moment. He is mortal, yet not so, an odd mix of humanity and something evil He holds my gaze, confident in his ability to hold his own should I choose to attack.
He rumbles two words in my direction. Marcus Miller. I assume this is what he is requesting to be called. I nod and return my mind to the prey awaiting my attentions. His large brown eyes are wide with fear, and he has pissed himself…ambrosia. I kneel at his side, a slow smile on my lips. His terror is palpable; his breath panting from his chest, as I lean closer, Marcus has come around behind my prey, a blade in his hand, and I watch in curiosity. He crouches, and with brutal strength, stabs prey in the back, dragging the knife upwards. The screams that rent the air are music to my ears. Marcus has backed off again, sitting to observe.
Prey has fallen back, his lifeblood draining and seeping into the earth below. I lean forward and slip my arms beneath, lifting him into my embrace. He has little strength left, but enough to shake his head, a begging expression on his face. Poor thing, he doesn’t understand Death Maiden does not spare her prey, ever. His hands reach up and grab at my hair, twining the crimson strands though his fists. I hold his eyes to mine, much as his body is held to my breast, and lean to press my lips to his. He tastes fresh like a nights rain, flavoured with smoke. He hitches a breath, two, and not again. I drink the essence of his soul as he breathes out his last, feeling the life leave his body.
I lay his shell back to the earth, and glance up at my companion. He is staring at me most peculiarly. More curiosity, but that would wait. Dessert awaits and I have been looking forward to this particular slay. I gain my feet, stroking Scythe as I walk towards Marcus. She is crooning to me, begging me to let her feed. Not this one, I tell her, this one is not prey, offering promise of delight yet to come. Marcus leads the way to the travelling wagon, on the stairs is a role of barbed metal. I have never seen this before, and reach to touch it and my wrist is suddenly engulfed in his large hand. A snarl erupts from my throat, and my hand finds his throat, squeezing and digging my nails into the soft flesh. He only shakes his head, and releases my arm. Tension eased, he grabs the roll and walks to the tree nearby.
I leave him to his devices and step around the side to where the last awaits his doom. This one is so odd. He is smiling around his gag, his wrists free and bleeding, the skin peeled most delightfully from the flesh. I freeze, momentarily musing on what this might mean. Is it possible this prey is aroused by the thought of his own demise? I see this is truth, as his pants have become much tighter. Death Maiden does not give pleasure, and he will so know this to be truth. I hear Scythe whispering just beyond the darkness of this place. Prey hears it too and his smile slips away, falling away from his lips in an instant.
She is singing to Marcus. My Scythe, who despises all but Her Mistress, is singing to my companion. Yes, this one is different. I pull the deviant to his feet, noticing his ankles are bloody and the bonds are removed. He stayed, when he could have run. I do not understand this. I am Fear. I am Death Maiden. He should have run.
I point him to the tree on the other side, not bothering to speak. He walks, glancing over his shoulder. I feel his eyes on my body and I do not like it. I will pop his eyes as I did his friend’s, and lick the ocular juice from my fingers. He sees what Marcus has created for his death and freezes solid, his breath stopped and steaming in the air. It is a beautiful contraction of pain, and my mouth fills with desire. He has fashioned cuffs from this barbed metal, from the branches above, and cuffs from the base of the tree. He watches my reaction, tense and gripping his blade tightly in his hand. I smile my approval, licking my lips in anticipation and shove prey forward towards my companion. I will watch this with interest. Prey stumbles forward, tripping and catching himself on a root that has exposed itself.
Marcus points to a spot on the ground, demanding prey step to his doom. Prey glances at me and around the area where he now stands. Hoping for a chance to make his escape, but there is no where to go. He and his friends blocked off any chance for someone to enter their campsite without being seen. Their forethought has become his loss. He steps forward to where he was beckoned and begins to shake and shiver. Bloody chocolate this is to my eyes. Marcus wraps the cuff to his left wrist, overlaying the barbed metal so that it resembles a brutal bracelet. I glance at my own wrist, thinking I would require one of my own.
Prey screams as the wrapping digs deeply into his flesh, bringing bloody rubies to the surface, his muscles movements spoiling the beauty and causing them to fall to the ground in a waterfall. Above a Grue Phoenix cries her song, echoing the screams of prey as Marcus completes the other wrist. This sound pleases me, both the cry of Phoenix and the heartsong of prey. Scythe is silent as she rests before her feed, as though watching through my eyes. Both ankles are now confined and prey hangs in a large X from the tree. It is time to punish and feed, but Marcus raises a hand in my direction, requesting I wait. He holds his blade to preys eyes, growling a question that I cannot hear. Prey shakes his head, shrieking fear into the masked face.
Marcus reached into the open maw of the screaming man, and grasps his tongue, and slices. Now there are no words to be had, as there is only silence. His pain must be great for it to go silent. Marcus steps back and indicates he is through, and I hold Scythe to me, whispering with my heart that it is now time. Prey is slack in his bonds, eyes open wide as I approach him. He fears me and this delights me. Yet…there is a look in his eyes that gives me pause. He is in pain, obviously so, yet he seems to be happy about it.
I lean in to his space, pressing myself against him, and causing the cuffs to bite deeper into his skin. I feel his chest hitch in air as I reach up to stroke the barbed metal, catching the crimson treasure on my fingertips. I meet his eyes, as I touch my lips with his life force, tasting the salty sweetness of his fright, licking it away, feeding my need. My nails scratch across his cheek, splitting the flesh, tearing it, marking him. Blood drips freely from his wounded mouth and I kiss him, nipping at his lips as I drank from his essence. A shifting movement catches my attention and I see Marcus in the shadows. He watches closely, trying to catch each movement.
Lovely contraption, I muse as I circle prey, choosing the place in which to begin my feed. He jerks, trying to follow my progress. Stopping just in front of where Marcus lurks, I lift Scythe into the air, Her tip pressing into the flesh of his torso, dimpling the skin. I whirl, around and around, slicing his body as I go, creating lovely designs in red that drip and flow. His screams are inarticulate and all encompassing, and Scythe joins his song with her own. She is dressed in crimson entirely now, and is so beautiful. I come to a stop before his eyes, relishing the tears that fall from them. He begs me to stop with his blues, and I laugh, loud and with abandon. Stop? Death Maiden does not stop until all life has ceased.
Marcus is next to me, his fingers stroking Scythe’s blade, smearing Her crimson gown. I fix my unnatural blues on his movements, waiting to see if She will bite or purr. She bites, a nip really, and his fingers drool red, purring as she does. She likes this one. Interesting. I offer him the final indignities and he growls, stepping to the side to grab his longer blade. It’s edge gleams in the moonlight, catching light from the dying fire not so far away, sending a shiver down my length. He calls it Machete and pushes me aside, not kindly, and I snarl back, brandishing Scythe in his direction. I will destroy him if I need to, though I’d rather not. He could be most useful to me.
Prey leans away, causing himself deeper pain, whimpering as his body shakes. We have company, Marcus and I. An angel has lit upon the travelling wagon, her wings closed tight about her as she leans in to watch the fun, others as well, lurking in the shadows. This does not upset me. There are lessons to be learned, and they are so much better taught with eyes to see.
Marcus thrusts forward with his arm, cutting deeply, causing the blade to exit beside the spine. Such power he has, and prey gasps, breath stolen by the long blade in his body. My own breath is coming fast and hard. What a delicious end to this one. His Elixor of Life gushes out in a bloody river as Marcus pulls it free, twisting it sadistically. He turns into a slashing maniac, spilling prey’s guts from his belly in bloody ribbons that fall to the ground, his blood splattering me from head to toe, Machete spraying bloody droplets in the air.
He stops, breathing heavily as prey dangles. He is nearly done, but now I will finish him. I slip in front of Marcus, cutting off his access and he roars at me. I promised final indignities but there is a lesson only I can teach. It serves us all. I lift preys chin so that he looks me in the eyes. He is dying but I won’t let him go before I have my final feed. He stares back, no smile now, no arousal, only a silent plea for release. He will have it, in most final ways.
I gently kiss his eyes, tasting his tears and pain, and lean back to push my talons into his face. There is a shriek and I feel his eyes burst under the pressure. Never again will he leer at me or anyone else. He writhes, his barbed cuffs nearly severing his hands from his wrists and causing a shower of blood. Into his chest I reach, cutting through the bone and flesh to grasp his still beating heart. I crush it in his body, feeling a meal of tissue between my fingers. All movement stops, his shell dangling from the wires that hold him there. It is done.
Marcus is brooding behind me, I feel his breath on my neck and I smile and turn, holding my gore covered hand before him. He grabs my wrist and nods. Good. We have an understanding. Our company has departed, having slunk away into the receding shadows of the coming dawn. Carnage lies before us, a bloody bouquet of body and blood, and I am pleased. Scythe is sighing softly and I hold her close, sated finally. In the distance, my dwelling calls. Dawn will break soon and I must return. I offer shelter from the light to my companion, and receive only silence, and a stare.
I drift away, as the light breaks in the sky. Should he follow, we will have kinship and discussion. Should he not, I will leave him to live another day, perhaps our Paths will cross again. I see the severed head of the youth still hanging on the branches. The rooks have begun their own feed, cawing rustily at each other as they peck the flesh from his skull
Movement behind me, the youth’s body is being carried back to the carnage. My companion has decided to join me.
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