Your torments call us like dogs in the night. And we do feed, and feed well. To stuff ourselves on other people's torments. And butter our plain bread with delicious pain... Funerals, marriages, lost loves, lonely beds " that is our diet. We suck that misery and find it sweet. We can smell the young ulcerating to be men a thousand miles off. Mr Dark
The provocatively red rose with its scarlet ribbon sat on the vanity in her rented hotel room. It had sat there all day and was still there, when she got in from the Masquerade, smelling the cheap punch and expensive wine on her breath as she drew off her hat and hung it over the knob of her bed. She yawned and was half way through undressing when she remembered the delivery and instantly looked around towards the vanity to see if the token was still there. Her chest heaved, as it had been doing all night whenever she thought of the damned thing, and she held back that sigh. She just wanted to sleep. To hide under all the blankets.
Madison had no idea who the rose was from. Madison had never in her life received roses. And she couldn't for the life of her guess as to who would send them. She had no paramour, not even a potential, and any man she knew was a colleague or a poker partner, so that eliminated the first round. There was nothing between herself and any of those men, not Sal anymore, and she had decided, firmly, not with Karras either. The first thought to run through her mind was that the rose was a joke. If not a joke then it was poisoned. Laced thorns meant to prick her like Aurora's spindle in castle high... And if it wasn't either of the first two bets, if it indeed was a gesture of affection, it concerned her more than the other two options. Magenta? Was she sorry twice, as she had suggested she could, would be? Was this symbolic of the flower to be tossed upon her grave as it went under, once Arts had had her way? Or was it from the devil herself, the Skeleton, as some way to garner Madison's friendship? Who was it that was trying to appeal to the winsome woman underneath the worn blouse and jeans, when the guns were stripped off and she was alone in bed?
She didn't like it. She didn't like at all. Whatever it was, whatever it meant....
Half clothed she got under covers and hid away, ignoring the strange gift for the time being. Sleep was too thick to ignore, fogging her mind with the Sandman's coax. Yet words played over and over, the whispers of the autumn folk. ...
Bad girl
You don't belong here
..Not anymore
You didn't have to dress up tonight, did you? You are what you fear the most..
Bad, bad, bad girl.
Come away.. Come away... Come away... Fly the rooftops! Sail the thunderheads! Come dance macabre!
The provocatively red rose with its scarlet ribbon sat on the vanity in her rented hotel room. It had sat there all day and was still there, when she got in from the Masquerade, smelling the cheap punch and expensive wine on her breath as she drew off her hat and hung it over the knob of her bed. She yawned and was half way through undressing when she remembered the delivery and instantly looked around towards the vanity to see if the token was still there. Her chest heaved, as it had been doing all night whenever she thought of the damned thing, and she held back that sigh. She just wanted to sleep. To hide under all the blankets.
Madison had no idea who the rose was from. Madison had never in her life received roses. And she couldn't for the life of her guess as to who would send them. She had no paramour, not even a potential, and any man she knew was a colleague or a poker partner, so that eliminated the first round. There was nothing between herself and any of those men, not Sal anymore, and she had decided, firmly, not with Karras either. The first thought to run through her mind was that the rose was a joke. If not a joke then it was poisoned. Laced thorns meant to prick her like Aurora's spindle in castle high... And if it wasn't either of the first two bets, if it indeed was a gesture of affection, it concerned her more than the other two options. Magenta? Was she sorry twice, as she had suggested she could, would be? Was this symbolic of the flower to be tossed upon her grave as it went under, once Arts had had her way? Or was it from the devil herself, the Skeleton, as some way to garner Madison's friendship? Who was it that was trying to appeal to the winsome woman underneath the worn blouse and jeans, when the guns were stripped off and she was alone in bed?
She didn't like it. She didn't like at all. Whatever it was, whatever it meant....
Half clothed she got under covers and hid away, ignoring the strange gift for the time being. Sleep was too thick to ignore, fogging her mind with the Sandman's coax. Yet words played over and over, the whispers of the autumn folk. ...
Bad girl
You don't belong here
..Not anymore
You didn't have to dress up tonight, did you? You are what you fear the most..
Bad, bad, bad girl.
Come away.. Come away... Come away... Fly the rooftops! Sail the thunderheads! Come dance macabre!