"You will be such a Wicked Device."
His words were corruption and torture pouring on her skin like oil against the burning scorching areas at her back where the cuts had been made. The burning edges of hot pokers had been rested to her flesh.
Not once had there been a scream. Not once had there been a falling tear.
She saw the age in him.
Knew it from the time that she had opened her eyes. How marbles could be made to liquid black wells of power and passion. Torment and Desire. The wicked need that filled them. Never sated.
He had created her to be so.
Never satisfied.
"Come. Prove that I made you well, Ylva."
The twisted edge of the bone hilt of the knife was thrust into her hand. Directed on to her feet and motioned towards the room that smelled like nothing more then things Ylva was coming to know well.
Blood.
Death.
All the smells of terror and chaos.
It near made her ill as her new heightened senses left her overwhelmed and shaking.
Fresh meat in a corner. Writhing and struggling in bonds.
"Set them free."
Her voice was husky. A vacant growl.
No pain, no horror at the state of the children. She dared to look back at the one who had brought her to life. The Dollmaker.
How he watched her. Such hunger in his eyes that left her to feel tainted. To feel... infected by his wandering eyes.
The scarlet cloak was unlaced, spilled from her throat and left to slip from her shoulders to a puddle of red at the floor.
Such symbolism she had yet to understand. He had left her naked beneath that cloak. Nothing more save for the bits of black lace at her chest and pelvis.
She watched eagerly as they were released from bonds. They ran for the open door.
A door that would lead into the forest.
Black lace on soft skin and a silver shine of the blade in her hand.
She knew what the Doll Maker called these two. Knew them well.
The breadcrumbs they left behind would do nothing to save them.
Without the cloak she ran, learning of the new fluidity of limbs. How the infection... the disease he had placed in her veins had altered her, changed her... made her so much more faster.
Muscles moved where they should not have been, alive below her flesh.
There was so much hunger.
Gasping eager breaths came like sultry growls from her throat as she ran after the twins... no... the prey as instincts took over.
On hands and feet she ran before she was screaming out surprise as the blade was dropped and the lace ripped and tore itself free of her flesh. Fur of the richest black, as soft as velvet poured out along her body as the change took place.
A run on all fours... now as Wolf.
Little Red no longer needed the Wolf because the wolf was her.
A scream of anguish became a howl in the night joined with the gurgled sounds of terror as the throats were torn from the bodies of the twins.
Jugulars found washed her muzzle in a spray of blood. Painted black fur in matted stains of crimson.
When the kill was over she howled out the sound of frustration.
Her hunger... was not sated.
Trotting back to the Doll Maker, her Master she looked up at him and the evil delight that was in his eyes, in his smile.
"Yes... you will do just fine. Now. Change back."
A whimper as the wolf shook her head in confusion. A blow coming to her side as the boot of the Doll Maker found a soft spot.
"Change!"
The turning back was excruciating. Such horrible, mind bending pain as her body protested the swift turn after such a sudden change to wolf and now back to woman again.
Her body protested with its pain as she screamed out the horror and anguish of that pain. A scream of realization of all that she had become.
Worse so understanding the fate deemed for her as she heard that buckle become loosened from the Doll Maker's pants. The crack of leather at her back to send a raw burn across her blood painted flesh.
Blood soaked and savage she was weak and helpless and the Doll Maker knew it well as he took his new creation and made her his own.
The Howls in the Night were nothing to compare to the fury, that unsated desire that burned within her. Tearing her apart near as the Beast within.
His words were corruption and torture pouring on her skin like oil against the burning scorching areas at her back where the cuts had been made. The burning edges of hot pokers had been rested to her flesh.
Not once had there been a scream. Not once had there been a falling tear.
She saw the age in him.
Knew it from the time that she had opened her eyes. How marbles could be made to liquid black wells of power and passion. Torment and Desire. The wicked need that filled them. Never sated.
He had created her to be so.
Never satisfied.
"Come. Prove that I made you well, Ylva."
The twisted edge of the bone hilt of the knife was thrust into her hand. Directed on to her feet and motioned towards the room that smelled like nothing more then things Ylva was coming to know well.
Blood.
Death.
All the smells of terror and chaos.
It near made her ill as her new heightened senses left her overwhelmed and shaking.
Fresh meat in a corner. Writhing and struggling in bonds.
"Set them free."
Her voice was husky. A vacant growl.
No pain, no horror at the state of the children. She dared to look back at the one who had brought her to life. The Dollmaker.
How he watched her. Such hunger in his eyes that left her to feel tainted. To feel... infected by his wandering eyes.
The scarlet cloak was unlaced, spilled from her throat and left to slip from her shoulders to a puddle of red at the floor.
Such symbolism she had yet to understand. He had left her naked beneath that cloak. Nothing more save for the bits of black lace at her chest and pelvis.
She watched eagerly as they were released from bonds. They ran for the open door.
A door that would lead into the forest.
Black lace on soft skin and a silver shine of the blade in her hand.
She knew what the Doll Maker called these two. Knew them well.
The breadcrumbs they left behind would do nothing to save them.
Without the cloak she ran, learning of the new fluidity of limbs. How the infection... the disease he had placed in her veins had altered her, changed her... made her so much more faster.
Muscles moved where they should not have been, alive below her flesh.
There was so much hunger.
Gasping eager breaths came like sultry growls from her throat as she ran after the twins... no... the prey as instincts took over.
On hands and feet she ran before she was screaming out surprise as the blade was dropped and the lace ripped and tore itself free of her flesh. Fur of the richest black, as soft as velvet poured out along her body as the change took place.
A run on all fours... now as Wolf.
Little Red no longer needed the Wolf because the wolf was her.
A scream of anguish became a howl in the night joined with the gurgled sounds of terror as the throats were torn from the bodies of the twins.
Jugulars found washed her muzzle in a spray of blood. Painted black fur in matted stains of crimson.
When the kill was over she howled out the sound of frustration.
Her hunger... was not sated.
Trotting back to the Doll Maker, her Master she looked up at him and the evil delight that was in his eyes, in his smile.
"Yes... you will do just fine. Now. Change back."
A whimper as the wolf shook her head in confusion. A blow coming to her side as the boot of the Doll Maker found a soft spot.
"Change!"
The turning back was excruciating. Such horrible, mind bending pain as her body protested the swift turn after such a sudden change to wolf and now back to woman again.
Her body protested with its pain as she screamed out the horror and anguish of that pain. A scream of realization of all that she had become.
Worse so understanding the fate deemed for her as she heard that buckle become loosened from the Doll Maker's pants. The crack of leather at her back to send a raw burn across her blood painted flesh.
Blood soaked and savage she was weak and helpless and the Doll Maker knew it well as he took his new creation and made her his own.
The Howls in the Night were nothing to compare to the fury, that unsated desire that burned within her. Tearing her apart near as the Beast within.