He had fingers curled around the edge of delicate ear. She was such a pretty thing, really, shivering beneath her cloak. Underfed, rib bones messaging hunger beneath a too loose corset.
He studied her clinically, seeing what would have been beautiful had she not had to whore herself for food and money. Such a contrast here between those who had everything and those that did not.
He bent down to whisper a secret of unmaking; a word to unravel her sorrow for a day. A gift, perhaps--when he felt the press of metal to his ribs. He arose away from her slowly, but did not back away. What curled his mouth now might have been mistaken for humor.
"So," and it was not the starving whore that looked at him. It was something far worse, something that had tunneled her way into this ones body, burning all that remained so that She could worm her way in for split seconds.
Such waste.
"I was right." Gloating.
He was careful to incline his head to her respectfully. "You were." He was no longer laughing.
"Give it to me, and think of the thousands you shall save from my ire. Think of it, they will sing your name as hero," she purred. A thousand clicks of spider legs, rocks rumbling in her words.
He seemed to consider this with eyes lowered. After a moment, he looked up and smiled. It was not a frivolous expression that suited his care free face. "I am afraid you know that I cannot do that."
It was only a very quiet snarl from her split lips, but it shook the ground beneath them both. Her temper would always be her downfall, her hate...As she jerked back her arm to drive her puppet forward, he reached out with gentle hands and snapped her neck; severing the tenuous link before She could worm her way in further. Manifest worse.
The dirty female crumpled as paper houses in the wind to the cobblestone as dagger clattered away. He followed, only to reach out with fingertips and smooth filthy hair over twisted frozen death-mask of horror.
"I am sorry."
She was the first. She would not be the last, but she would always be remembered.
He arose from her and set his eyes to the city. He was not smiling.
He studied her clinically, seeing what would have been beautiful had she not had to whore herself for food and money. Such a contrast here between those who had everything and those that did not.
He bent down to whisper a secret of unmaking; a word to unravel her sorrow for a day. A gift, perhaps--when he felt the press of metal to his ribs. He arose away from her slowly, but did not back away. What curled his mouth now might have been mistaken for humor.
"So," and it was not the starving whore that looked at him. It was something far worse, something that had tunneled her way into this ones body, burning all that remained so that She could worm her way in for split seconds.
Such waste.
"I was right." Gloating.
He was careful to incline his head to her respectfully. "You were." He was no longer laughing.
"Give it to me, and think of the thousands you shall save from my ire. Think of it, they will sing your name as hero," she purred. A thousand clicks of spider legs, rocks rumbling in her words.
He seemed to consider this with eyes lowered. After a moment, he looked up and smiled. It was not a frivolous expression that suited his care free face. "I am afraid you know that I cannot do that."
It was only a very quiet snarl from her split lips, but it shook the ground beneath them both. Her temper would always be her downfall, her hate...As she jerked back her arm to drive her puppet forward, he reached out with gentle hands and snapped her neck; severing the tenuous link before She could worm her way in further. Manifest worse.
The dirty female crumpled as paper houses in the wind to the cobblestone as dagger clattered away. He followed, only to reach out with fingertips and smooth filthy hair over twisted frozen death-mask of horror.
"I am sorry."
She was the first. She would not be the last, but she would always be remembered.
He arose from her and set his eyes to the city. He was not smiling.