Let's Hide By This Lust [M]

[Anonymous]

God, the beer here looked like blood. It was a vile, sierra-red sort of liquid that sloshed around lazily in its mug, laughing at him as it spilled out from the mug's sides. Fen let his lithe fingers slip around the slippery glass mug and grasped it, pulling it closer towards him, eyes poking and prying at what seemed to be just a normal, if not vile, glass of beer.

He ran his fingers around the mug's rim — once, twice, three times, until he was lost in its rhythmic motion, staring deep into the glass of beer, as if it held all the secrets to life itself in its depths. As his finger skated around its rim, Fen brought his back up, slowly, cocking his head to the side while locking eyes with the reluctant bartender.

The bespectacled old man quickly tore his eyes away from the white-haired blood mage, looking down at the fragile wine glass and running his grimy white glass in and out of its crevices, cleaning away dirt that was no longer there. You could call him biased, you could call him a coward, but he could not stand to look into those daring dark eyes, eyes the color of dried blood. He felt his heart quicken as he picked up the pace, rushing the cleaning cloth in and around the wine glass, before picking another out of the muddy dishwater and starting the process all over again. And yet, despite his silent protests, he could still feel the young man's eyes resting on him.

Watching. Waiting. Grinning.

Only a few customers eased their way in and out of the bar tonight. Outside of Tam's Tavern, the night was thick and palpable — men dug coins out of their pockets and were swishing down their last gulp of beer before heading home to a worried wife, daughter, son, who would demand angrily where they had been all night. An elixir of stars stirred its way into the majestic night as people packed up their things and tried to find a sober part of their soul that would take their asses home that night, grudgingly leaving the comfort of the tavern's watered down beer and raucous atmosphere.

Now, only the loons were left. Alcoholics, pickpockets, and Fenrisulfr Rotht, who stared fixatedly at the barkeep, who took deep breaths, in and out, thinking about the cat he had left at home and how the hell he would ever get around to feeding it if he had to serve this loony bastard all night long. Mysteriously, every time he dared to bring his eyes up towards the white-haired stranger, the beer mug was empty, and there he was, demanding more.

"Quite frankly," Fenris muttered under his breath, folding his hands together innocently while keeping his head cocked to the side, a simple smirk painted on his face, "I think you're passing off a most heinous mixture of dirt and your cat's piss for beer. And maybe a dash of pig's blood, for good measure." He had spent most of the night staring into the mixture, dumping it out on the floor, only to ask for another glass, as if doing so would help him figure out just what this wretched man put in his beer to make it taste and look so damn bad.

The barkeep's heart pounded in his chest. He could see his cat now, crying near the welcome mat, scratching its claws helplessly on his door, begging, meowing, wondering what had happened to his milk...

"Then again..." Here, Fen shrugged, holding the mug in his hands now, before carelessly letting it drop on the floor. The mug shattered into a million tiny pieces, the beer staining the tavern's already muddy floor. "...it could just be poison. I have a reason to believe you are trying to poison your customers, Barkeep. Perhaps not to kill them — no, but to kill their spirits."

 Fen put his hands on the counter, leaning forward toward the old bartender, so the old man could see just how malevolent Fen's eyes truly were. "You sit here every day, watching people bring give you the little coins they have in their pockets for a poison disguised as an elixir, which slowly eats away their hopes, spirits, dreams..."

Tonight was his night, wasn't it? The old man apologized to his cat silently, wondering if another soul would come along to feed him sooner or later. He wondered if cats knew how to forgive, if cats could understand what it meant for a human to disappear from their lives.

"But don't worry. I've done more vile things than you. Who am I to talk?" Fen smirked here, looking down at his fingernails. "To compare you to myself is to compare an eagle to a vulture — obviously, one has a better sense of pride than another. Obviously one... lives better than the other."

 He shook his head, sighing.  How sad it was that this man had been the closest thing he had to a confidant... it would be best to kill him soon, perhaps tomorrow, to put them both out of their misery... Fenris bit his lower lip, lowering his sierra-red eyes down to the floor, where a glass shard clung to the bottom of his black boot. He scoffed, crunched down on the glass shards he had scattered on the floor, and muttered simply, "Put it on my tab."

There was nothing left for him here, was there? Nothing but the sweet melody of drunks bickering with each other, yelling and screaming as the stars shook their heads from their places up in their perfect night sky.  He heard Barkeep mutter something about "you'll have to clean that up..." but waved him off, watching the humans beat each other with words and violence, taking it all in. How wonderful life could be, when enshrouded with chaos!

[Anonymous]

She was sure there had to be others much more suited for such a job as this. But the simple fact remained, that when the manager asked you to do something, you did it. As a woman living at Peaches'n'Cream, not everything was as glamorous as the Peaches would have you think. You turned tricks on the side if you weren't making enough, you ran errands for a 'friend', or the other workers, and if the manager asked you to do something, you got your ass out and did it.

Tonight, it had been Eden who'd somehow been caught in the cross-hairs of her employers eyes, when they'd learned of a particularly stunning guest coming through and for which they'd undoubtedly need not only more wine, but more of a certain kind of wine. The likes of which, somehow, could only be found in this dark, dingy corner of Ketra. It was the kind of place that one would think of as 'no place for a lady', but that thought passed through Eden's mind and kept on moving. A job was a job, and she just wanted to get it over with, get back, and hopefully get back with enough time to find a customer who wasn't already in the clutches of one of those 'friends'.

Friends were a funny thing at Peaches'n'Cream. Eden didn't have many of them, nor did she care much that she didn't. There were some she regarded more highly than others, some who were more respectful in the way they did things, and then, of course, there were those who back-stabbed, lied, and connived to get the better of everyone else. And there were enough of them that it wasn't abnormal, and that you didn't really expect anything different.

Having her so-called 'exotic appeal' caused some customers to take keen interest in Eden, though, which resulted in her being put on the invisible 'black list' of those more traitorous of the Peaches. As wicked as they could be, they could pack together and shut a person out good and hard if they decided to band up. Luckily, Eden had stuck with it and endured enough to eek out her own survival, and eventually her novelty faded with the regulars, and some sort of weird, uncomfortable balance had been found. Not that there wasn't always ample room for that balance to get shaken up.

To this end, Eden was a little grateful for getting away, even if briefly. It meant she'd lose out on potential customers, but she'd at least get paid for the errand-running to make up for it, and she wasn't hurting too much, or worried that she couldn't manage a nights loss. As she made her way into Tam's Tavern, though, she pulled her cloak around her a bit more tightly, the putrid air hitting her like a brick wall. Quickly her eyes fell on the familiar back -though, more familiar when unclothed, sprawled beneath her as she whipped it to his pleasure, not too hard, of course, less the missus find out- and she shrunk a little at the idea of running into anyone she knew from work in a place like this.

He was sat at a table not far from the bar, just between a white-haired man with shattered glass at his feet, and where she had to speak with Mitchel, a man she'd met only once before and been directed to this time. He was an employee here, in charge of keeping an eye on the cellar doors, the one who would give her the goods she'd come for. She tucked her ears down low and kept her tail as still as possible as she walked over, but it was impossible for the shape of a woman to pass through a crowd of drunken men unnoticed.

Luckily, though, her past customer didn't seem to recognize her, or just wasn't looking -she didn't care to risk a glimpse to find an answer- and she continued toward Mitchel, a well-built but rather lanky man, just as drunken-tired as the rest of the fools, but clearly with more control of himself. He sat, arms folded in front of himself at the back table in front of the cellar, watching some drunken tomfoolery unfold.

"Excuse me," she said softly, hoping to keep her voice low. It was noisy, thankfully, and she hoped she wouldn't have to raise her voice too sharply to be heard. "I'm here from Peaches, to pick up an order." Her hand slipped from her cloaks to set the coin purse she'd been given on the table before him. His eyes lifted from the bag to her, and then took hold of it, giving a nod across the room to the barkeep before pocketing the money and rising to his feet.

"Just wait here a minute," he said, disappearing behind the cellar doors. Eden's shoulders slouched, her tail twitching impatiently behind her. The rest of her body tensed a little, aware of several pairs of eyes on her, as she hoped this wouldn't take long.

"Edi?" came a gruff, laughing voice, just over her shoulder. She cringed at the nickname she loathed, as she felt the big, sweaty palm on her shoulder. Even through her clothes she knew it was greasy and slick, and would probably leave a mark on her cloak. The smell of his alcohol-saturated breath permeated the air around her, and his other hand, careless, reached up and grabbed the back of her hood. "See, look eht dis!" he laughed back behind him, pulling it back, tugging some of her hair with it which made her head jerk back a little as she swung around to slap his hand away. It'd been a knee-jerk reaction, and as soon as she'd done it she regretted it, his fat hand gripping her wrist as he laughed some more. Her ears folded back against her head in upset, but her face remained even and calm, despite the swirling disgust in her stomach.

"Wha's'duh mattah? Its been fore... fore..." he lurched a little, looking pale, and Eden drew back a little, trying to wrench her wrist free. His nausea seemed to pass though, and he lit back up, the others still laughing, ooh'ing and ah'ing, a few gathering closer. "Ahaha! Ya think tha's sumfin, look'eh here!" Grabbing her hard, he spun her around and shoved her against the table like he might have had they been in a room, grabbing her skirt and going to throw it up. Gritting her teeth though, her body again reacted, spinning to move away. The table, however, toppled beneath the movement and she fell to the floor instead, her tail twitching visibly in annoyance, though her skirt was at least positioned to keep her decent.

She winced painfully, her hand having landed sharply in a few shards of the shattered glass on the ground, embedded in the palm and heel, bleeding out. The customer raised his hands, eyes wide in surprise as he took a backwards step, chuckling innocently.

"Ah~aha~ Ya should re'lly be more carefal there, Edi~" he laughed, as the others snickered, another kneeling down the lift up her skirt, grabbing her tail.

"This thing really hers?" he asked, giving it a tug, to which her foot rammed out and jammed him in the gut. She flinched as he tumbled backwards, the others laughing but only becoming more interested... She had a bad feeling this night was going to end up costing her more than she'd originally thought...

[Anonymous]

Blood.

He'd know that smell anywhere. If he was sleeping, the scent would snake in his nose, violently thrusting him out of his peaceful rest and into a world where red rubies dropped blissfully from the bodies of distraught humans, giggling as it bleed out of their veins. If he was drunk, drugged up, the very antonym of sober, it'd pound a sledgehammer into his skull, cracking him out of his sickness and telling him to run, run, blood was spilling: it's a valuable resource, you can't just let it waste! God, he loved it. God, he hated it. And as Fenris looked down below him, where a female fox-woman lay bleeding out of the palm of her hand, the blood mage, for the first time in quite a while breathed under his breath, "Curor, help me."

No help came. Did he really expect it? Did he really believe there were any gods, especially not a god of blood, who would come crashing down from his heavenly throne in the sky, just to help one measly sinner? Of course not... of course not... As Fen's sierra-red eyes locked onto his target, he could literally feel his last sane thoughts that he would have for a while slowly slip out of his brain. The blood in his own veins pulsed, beating faster and faster, like the beat at a wild nightclub, beating into his skull, crushing out the little bits of humanity he had left. He tried to look away, tried to close up his nose so that deliciously horrid scent would not slip in and unleashed the monster, but he couldn't. Hell, he just didn't want to.

Slowly, like a robot who had indefinitely locked onto his target, Fenris moved towards the man who had caused the blood to shed in the first place. He smelled of liquor and vomit, but damn, he looked even worse. It was as if he had fell asleep in the same dumpster he used as his toilet. And hell if he wasn't stupid too. Normally, when the Devil himself makes a target out of you, any functioning human can hear him coming, can feel its presence knocking on their door. But this man: he was laughing and causing a riot, obviously proud of his feat — causing that fox-woman to bleed. His buddies were laughing, their stomachs splitting open, wondering, what should they do next? They didn't think to run.

The blood mage picked him up by the scruff of his shirt — a feat that shouldn't be possible for someone as lanky as he, but blood magic wasn't just useful for big, flashy things, no. Fen was a magician in his own right — a twisted Houndini who went mad when feeling the life of another human being beating under his hands... beating, crying, laughing in its own crooked hysteria... The man cocked his head at Fenris, shouting and cursing, wanting to go back to his fun.

"My friend!" Fen bellowed, smirking from ear-to-ear. "My deliciously, ridiculously idiotic friend. Has your mother taught you no manners? Has your father taught you no pride?" There was no response, except for curses and warnings and false promises of violence. As he cursed and yelled, Fen kept his grip on the man, moving towards the wall of the tavern, a wild look painting his eyes. As he reached the tavern wall, Fen laughed wildly, muttering, "You see, it's not nice to make people bleed."

And then, he snapped. The sanity had all been drained away, and the smell of the fox-woman's blood was getting stronger by the minute. With a forceful shove and a maniacal yell, Fen shoved the man's head into the tavern wall, laughing and smiling wildly as blood poured from the drunk's head. But one was not enough. In a crazed frenzy, Fen repeated the action — once, twice, three times, three forceful shoves into the hard tavern wall, the man's neck broken from the sheer force of the push. One could sit and wonder how Fen, who had no physical strength at all, had managed to do it — but the answer would be simple: blood. Its very smell enhanced and enraged every part of his body, turning the monster into a devil if there ever was one.

The tavern was silent: most of the man's friends had fled for safer grounds. Only Barkeep and the fox-woman remained, the bitter victims of Fen's fear and rage. Slowly now did he make his way over to the fox-woman, bending down to her level on the floor, his hands shaking as he grabbed her hands, laughing softly, yet still unsteadily, as he watched the blood drip out from her palm. He was incredibly shaky — his hands twitched violently, and Fen bit down on his lip to calm his fear, to keep himself from killing her, even though her neck would look so beautiful with his hands wrapped it—

"Don't just sit there and bleed," he grunted, although for a few shaky moments, he did nothing to stop her bleeding, he merely sat there and watched the blood flow out of her hand, gripping her hand firmly, his breath uneven, steadily. For a brief moment, he tore his eyes away from the blood and towards her face — funny how someone could be just another face in the crowd, and in the next second, with blood pouring from their person, they could be his next target, someone he needed to own — if not just for one night.

Slowly, almost delicately — or as delicate as someone could be whose hands were twitching violently — Fenris pulled the glass shards out of her palm, holding them up to the light, relishing and slightly wincing at the blood that stained the pieces, before carelessly letting them drop to the floor. Her blood was beautiful. He said that about everyone woman he raped — all of them had been unfortunate enough to bleed around him, and all of them had been his targets, sweet victims, for just one night. He didn't realize that all blood looked the same — he was too damaged to process anything sane like that, at the moment.

He pulled her up from the floor, grasping her by the bleeding hand and helping her up off the ground, still staring at the blood pouring from her hand. Breathing heavily, in a swift, fluid motion, Fen held the woman's arm behind her back, his free hand grasping her by the neck. He brought himself close to her ear, so that his breath tickled her neck, "You're a quiet one, aren't you? I do hope you'll stay that way, for your own sake." Because, to be honest, if she squirmed too much and asked too many questions, his hands might accidentally tighten around her neck, and then none of them would be happy... "Walk, out of the tavern. I'll lead the way." Or steer the way.

God, he could feel her blood pulsing in her veins, every delicious drop pounding steadily, waiting for him, calling for him...

[Anonymous]

Eden wasn't sure at all... what had just happened, what was happening. The moment the white-haired man had begun to move, she'd felt it. The tension that the drunken fools couldn't possibly have grasped in their stupor, the blood thirst unlike anything she'd ever known before. Yet somehow, she knew it, she recognized it for what it was, and it paralyzed her. Left her absolutely frozen as she watched him pick the man up and crack his skull against the wall like an egg on the counter...

Her vision had narrowed, everything else blurred around this one man. As the other patrons ran in fear, she could only sit and stare, even though she knew she should have run. This violence wasn't aimed at any one, it was in everyone. Though, she couldn't, of course, grasp the true nature of his mind, she felt that she, in some strange way, still understood it.

Its in you, its in every one of you, the beating, the bleeding, and breathing... Twitching, screaming, let it all out, every last drop. Every last choked, gurgled sob... Scream, just scream, thats right... There, there... shhhh...

The voice in her head narrated as she watched, but wasn't her voice. It wasn't a voice at all, just words, a bunch of words in a specific order, uttered once before. Words spoken with such a dark, sweet adoration for the atrocity they conveyed, for the violence they reflected. Words that pounded and echoed in her skull, trying to get out, trying to consume her, causing the fear in her chest to rumble like an earthquake, like a hurricane, spiraling around her. But her body was somehow gone, wholly separated from the mind so engulfed and swallowed in the words and the fear, in the vision of the man as he came closer to her... With each step he took nearer it was as if all her senses dulled further, sucked into this swirling black hole of a man. She could hear no sound but his footsteps, see no sight but him in all the blur around him, smell nothing but the blood that lingered in the air, tangible on the back of her tongue.

Her hand felt numb the moment he touched it, all the fear draining the sensation from the limb as if in retreat. He was laughing, he was shaking, and slowly the violent thudding of her heart called her mind to some form of clarity, however frighteningly vague it was. His voice speaking words sharply cut her out of herself, almost painfully to the reality of the moment before her. Eden couldn't even feel as he pulled each piece of glass out, but instead watched her bleeding hand so tightly wrapped in his shaking hand. There was no possible way for her to run, if she did she felt it'd be the last decision she'd ever make. But the look on his face that shifted between immense discomfort and fascination as he eyed each bloody shard left her dizzy at how lost she felt. There was a burning wetness at the corners of her eyes where her terror had made itself manifest, but she knew, at least remotely, she had nothing to waste on tears. No time, no energy... nothing.

She winced, biting back a small hiss of pain as he pulled her to her feet, grasping her hand. The pain suddenly shocked her into a more bitter reality where her senses settled back into place, the hurricane of her mind settling. The smell of alcohol in the place was immediately nauseating, more than it'd ever been in her life. And then her bleeding hand was behind her back, and his other hand was at her neck, causing her entire body to tense up once more, an exhausting and painful thing considering how tensed she'd already been. Every inch of Eden was on pins and needles, or perhaps daggers and sword would have been more accurate. Having a sensivity about her neck and throat didn't in the least bit help, but mixed with the immense distortion of emotions she was already drowning in she could do nothing else but simply be where she was... Right there, in his grasp.

Biting her lip, Eden supressed any sound as his voice came to her ear, his breath against her skin sending shivers all over. Her tail was tight against her, and her ears were folded back, most clearly showing the measure of her fear, almost disappearing in her slightly tousled hair. She wanted to make herself as small as possible... tiny, insignificant, a shard of bloody glass on the floor. At least then she wouldn't have to know this horror... At least then she wouldn't have to fear this prospect of losing her life.

You like it... It excites you... The edge of reality where everything becomes unknown, where it becomes simple. So simple. Live, or die. And you don't even have to make the choice. I'll make it for you. You like it, don't you? You love it.

Again the words that made her wrench her eyes shut. Where were they coming from? They weren't her thoughts, they couldn't have been, nothing like them had ever been so loud and distorting in her mind before. The sense-numbing terror crept around her again, grasping at her from the darkness behind her lids like great, icy claws, tearing into her depths. His voice cut into her again though, ordering her to move, but for a moment her body remained frozen, just as before.

Do it. If you don't do it, I'll kill you. And then I'll kill you again. Ahahaha, that sounds like fun, doesn't it--

Slowly she moved her feet, one after the other. If he was going to kill her, he'd have just done so, right? She couldn't afford herself even the smallest of hopes though, her mind was in too absolute a frenzy to even consider making it through this night alive. And that laughing, taunting voice that played those soul-numbing words in her mind only seemed to be growing more frequent... Like the voice of Death itself was narrating her final moments.

[Anonymous]

Obedience. A nine letter word which Fen liked to consider useless in today's society. Never in Fen's life had he ever followed the rules — more often than not, he would go out of his way to break them, even if these rules were built and cemented into the system in order to keep people like him alive. Despite that, he had attempted to murder the very people who had sheltered him from the Mordecai in Connlaoth. He had done everything he could to make the only mages in this world who had ever believed in him to hate his guts, to proclaim them dead in their hearts, and ever since then... what he had been doing? Lying, laughing, letting this blood steal away his life. He didn't regret it. Not a second, minute, nor hour of his life was wasted when it was with that glorious liquid. The red ruby, the only jewel he needed in his life...

She was a careful little fox — not reckless, like the others. Fen could feel her blood pounding in the veins in her neck as she let one foot step in front of the other, managing to be graceful despite the fact that a murderer's hand was wrapped around her pretty little neck, relishing the feel of her blood pumping, tickling his fingers, laughing in their misery. Out of the tavern they strode, with Barkeep still cleaning that wine glass, his eyes nervously avoiding the corpse that had bled all over his tavern wall, the shattered glass that Fen had broken in his own pompous display, and the drips of the fox-woman's blood that had dripped on the muddy floor — they were pretty droplets, a marvelous shade of red. A shade of red Fen had never laid his greedy eyes on before, but then again, he said that about every woman he had stolen...

The nighttime wind was ruthless — it whipped at Fen with its chilling cold, and the blood mage was sure that some benevolent god somewhere was frowning upon him again, desperately whipping at him with its gusts and  blustery breezes, yelling out in desperation for him to stop, stop, stop. Stars twinkled nervously in their positions, while the moon pulled down its shades, darkening the city's streets. Everyone who was remotely normal (how Fen hated that word — normal) was safe, tucked in their beds at this hour; either that, or they were sneaky kids stealing cookies from the family jar, stuffing them in their faces before rushing back to their rooms. No one looked out their window to see the devil dragging another girl down to hell once more. No one ever did.

Besides the wind's faulty protests, it was quiet in Fen's world for a few chilling moments, as he stared down at the girl's bleeding hand, trying his best not to start twitching again. It so beautiful her blood — and at the same time, revolting. Blood — the one substance that kept their machines running. It was ever so audacious for such a precious liquid to try and escape from a body — why, why? Why did its very sight torment so? And why did he love this torment? His fear crept back up on him again, and for a couple of shaky moments, his hand tightened himself more than necessary at her neck, his breathing getting heavier and heavier as he stared down at her palm. Finally, he wrenched his gaze away from her palm. The smart thing to do would be to bandage her palm, but he loved being on the edge — of fear and lust.

Maybe it was because she was too quiet. The others were all fidgety, all of them had a reaction he could eat up and laugh about — especially the ones who tried to yell. Before, he used to put his hand around their mouths, so they wouldn't scream — but one of the girls actually bit him once, and blood, sweet blood... needless to say, it drove him over the edge. He stared her down — from her fox-ears to her obedience, she was an enigma he wanted to unwrap.

"You're awful quiet for a captive — have I told you that?" He couldn't remember. Maybe he told her back at the tavern, but everything was blurring up — which was bad, considering how recently that was. "Most girls are quick to ask their amityville horror clichés..." Here, he paused, mimicking the voice of a terrified maiden: "'Where am I?' 'Where are you taking me?' 'What are you going to do with me?'" He laughed darkly, shaking his head. "But maybe you're smarter than that, is that it, my pretentious one? Perhaps you already know what's in store." She seemed like the smart type; after all, he had told her to stay quiet. But then again, he hadn't really expected her to listen. Fen was the talkative type after all, especially when it was with people he knew he held in the palm of his hand...

"Foxes are supposed to be clever, aren't they?"

He loosened his grip around her neck, as if giving her permission to speak. Because really, the best part about this was hearing them cry out in confusion... Oh well, he would figure — she'd have plenty of time to scream in bed.

[Anonymous]

The weather had picked up like a painful indication of everything that was unraveling. Even beneath her cloaks and clothes, it was a sharp knife of cold that cut through her, more than it would have been, she knew, if she'd been walking alone with a heavy keg. There were, of course, the hazards of living life as she did... She knew that, she didn't go a day without knowing that... But she'd never thought herself unsafe, even if she knew the risks, even if she knew it always happened to the 'people who least expected it'. That was the problem though, she had expected it. She didn't normally walk into a bar without wondering what man might lash out at her... It had happened tonight, of course... but now it was escalating beyond her imaginings.

But it was those imaginings that had probably given her the small bit of edge to keep some measure of wits about her, however small. The fear was overwhelming. No matter how she tried to reason with and calm herself, it always came thundering back with her racing heart. Each time his fingers shook, when they tightened, and her body lifted itself onto her tiptoes at the sharp incline of terror. He could break it... snap it in his hand, couldn't he? She'd be crumpled on the dirty ground and left to... nothing...

Afterwards, you don't have to worry. Isn't that a comfort?! Once its all over, its done. Finished. Ahaha, but, that'd be boring, then, wouldn't it?

She didn't feel like it was her feet moving anymore. Couldn't she just will herself into the clouds somewhere? Wake up when the sunlight poked through with its warmth, with birds chirping and bread baking down the hall... For a moment, she was sure she could smell it.

He spoke again, and every word made her weep inside, though her eyes were suddenly very dry, like they were aware that soon they'd be dead, too, with nothing left to give... so why bother? He'd done this before. He'd done this to girls far more frightened and confused than herself. And what had happened to them? Where were they now?

Nowhere. Ah, except, you'll still be here. Because its not quite the same for you, is it? Even if you're dead, even if that precious heart of yours stops... Ahaha! Ahehehe!! This is hell, love! This is your own, sacred hell!

His words, the way his fingers lightened on her neck... It seemed like he wanted her to reply, did he like that?

Ah, your voice is most beautiful like that... Scream... scream, love...

"...I feel like I've been here before..." she answered in a whisper, her voice barely audible over the wind. She didn't know what she was saying, there was too much for her to carefully process her own words. Her mouth just moved, and to her surprise, her voice came... Shaking and small, but it was hers, however foreign it suddenly sounded. Her ears flicked forward and quickly back. The only questions she suddenly had were those that he'd already taunted her with. If she surprised him, could she find a way out of this? If she made it... interesting? Her mind swirled, and she hung her head a little, ears laying forward, though just as flat as before, showing her at a loss, though a bitter smirk caught her lips. "I'm thankful I was able to see that man smeared on the wall, though," she said, somewhat daringly, darkly, "he was such a displeasing pig."

These weren't at all the words she'd expected to issue forth, and they only left her mind more baffled. Weren't there more important things than that? She felt like she was on the knives edge of remembering something, but she could hear it now... the scream those words in her mind had been beckoning forth... The scream somewhere deep in the back of her ears, gurgled and desperate, from a place and a time she didn't know. And that scream was in her own voice, strange and familiar. She could feel the rawness in her throat, the pain in her lungs, the nausea in her gut.

Yes, she'd definitely been here before, hadn't she?

[Anonymous]

"...I feel like I've been here before..."

The wind wanted  to snatch up her words, gobble them down before Fen had any chance of hearing them — but oh, how Fen had been waiting to hear her speak! As soon as the sentence left her lips, Fen's eyes widened, and an almost childlike grin sketched itself onto his features. Her hushed voice was sounded so delicate, and how the blood mage loved things that were easy to crack, to bend, to mold in his hands...

Oh, but wait... what did she mean? She had been here before? In Ketra? In Tam's Tavern? In his hands? In someone else's hands? Ah, she was an enigma! Good, good — she was smart, the damn fox. Those who could separate themselves from a sea of endlessly predictable women usually ended up walking out of this situation alive.  

But before he could ponder her mysterious statement, she surprised him again. Dark tones slipped out of her mouth, and a bitterness unbeknownst to him snaked into her sentence, sprinkling it with a hate he had not known such a precious girl like her could be capable of.

"I'm thankful I was able to see that man smeared on the wall, though... he was such a displeasing pig."

A dark laugh rose at the base of Fen's throat. He shook his head, so that his snowy white locks moved out of his sierra-red eyes — these eyes danced with a wild passion; how long it had been, since Fenrisulfr had been surprised! Fen let his laugh loose — it was a short, dark chuckle, which ended with him tilting his head to the side, suddenly curious of his newfound victim. He had chosen his pray well. Whether she had meant this statement or not was relative and unimportant — to hear what he had figured was such a pure, charming young girl... say something like that...

Fen was lost for words for a moment, but only a moment. The blood mage loved to hear himself talk after all — surely there couldn't be any occasion that left him totally speechless.

"What a sadistic little girl you are," Fen laughed, bringing himself closer to her, so that his contemptuous snicker could be felt on her neck. "Here I thought I had bagged myself a saint — but it seems like no pure souls are left in this world, not even the pretty ones, who bleed rubies..."

Oh, he had to mention blood again.

Fen struggled not to look down at her palm — even though the blood was no longer running as freely as before, the fact that blood had even been there would probably enough to get him reeling again. He had to save it — they were almost there. He could even see his shack there — up the road, with no other civilization near it...

They were near the door now — an old, aging wooden door, whose only usefulness was how tightly it could keep locked. Slowly, Fen released his grip of her neck and arm, shoving her against the door, only to have his hand near her neck again, trailing his fingers down its base, a dark smile on his lips. His other hand trapped her — pushing against the door, keeping her in his possession — his precious little fox.

"Would you call me your hero, then?" Fen wondered in a soft, sardonic tone. "What would you have done, if I hadn't been there to save you, maiden? Would he have hunted my little fox out, to its extinction?" Fen searched her eyes, taking in everything — her strange fox ears, her apple red eyes. It was his first time taking in someone who looked so strange, so different... Hell, it was his first time ever seeing anyone like her before. It would've intrigued him a whole lot more if he wasn't already high from his kill in the tavern.

Whether she gave an answer or not was of no importance — Fen let his free hand push the door open from behind her and pulled the fox inside, locking it with care behind him. There was six different locks on the door, all of them elaborate and hard to either twist, crank, or turn — but it was all for good reason, of course. It'd be most unpleasant if somewhere were to barge in on this moment.

His place was dingy — but hell, this was a temporary place, so it really wasn't any of his concern. Despite how run down the shack ultimately was, a truckload of rare and exotic items could be found scattered across the place. Huge grandfather clocks, elaborate vases, large paintings that seemed to be stolen off their very canvases.

With a brown and red theme, the little shack seemed to hold the air of a noble — that is, that of a noble who had been cast off his claim to throne, and holds bitterly onto its past. A load of uncounted coins sat near a desk, and — intriguingly enough, a corpse sat in the corner of the main room, its eyes plucked out of its head and its body seemingly drained of its blood...

In this main room was his bed — large, with red sheets (to hide the bloodstains, no doubt) it may as well have been the devil's sanctuary.

"I wonder if you are as dark as you'd like me to believe," Fen murmured, stepping closer to her with the hopes of driving her closer to the bed. "I wonder if, after this, you'd like to see my head splattered against a tavern wall. Bleeding, dying... Would you be laughing, in joy? I wonder..." With that, he took her by the shoulders, holding her gently at first, before pushing her down on the bed, listening to the springs creak as she was now totally in his control. His, his, his... How wonderful it was, to hold something in your hands, for just one moment, and claim it to be yours!

[Anonymous]

Bold as she might have seemed mere moments ago, seconds, really -it was amazing, the way time moved- each step that brought them closer to the little shack made every dark shadow grow, wide and long, each becoming a deeper shade of black than she thought possible... They reached out as if to grab her, opened wider to swallow her whole. His laughter, his voice only called them ever nearer.

She suddenly wondered why she hadn't screamed. Someone would have surely come to help, wouldn't they? The question wasn't even fully formed in her mind and she knew the grim answer, bitter and suffocating; no one would come. The bartender hadn't so much as batted an eyelash, the same as anyone else. She didn't have anyone important here, no one who would really notice or wonder what had happened should she disappear. But still she didn't want to. Still she felt the overwhelming desire... no, need to live. It was that need that fueled the fear, and the fear fed the need, a vicious, unrelenting cycle that left her clamoring...

Ah, this could all have been a joke! Some prank from the other Peaches! ...No, she realized darkly if it was the work of any of her co-workers, it was probably to get rid of her.

"Here I thought I had bagged myself a saint — but it seems like no pure souls are left in this world, not even the pretty ones, who bleed rubies..."

His voice on her neck, pinpricks went up all over her body, soon she'd be numb. She wasn't a saint. She wasn't anything good, or important, or necessary, wasn't anything that anyone needed or sought. Her name was a cruel deception. Anyone that expected anything else from her would be sadly let down, most of all herself.

You're so empty... So overflowing with nothing...

It was hard for her to tell, where the words were coming from. Herself? She recognized and acknowledged them, as if they'd been pounded into her soul as truth. They slowly soaked in this mans voice though. Slowly, the invisible laugh carried in those words became his own dark chuckle, the one against her neck as he pushed her against the door. She let out a soft cry, wincing as she collided against it. His skin touching hers, trapping her... she felt dizzy, and drunk, without all the uplift the latter could grant. What she wouldn't give to be wasted. To be so utterly shit-faced she didn't have to comprehend this. This was just a customer, this was just work, this was just... just...

"Would you call me your hero, then? What would you have done, if I hadn't been there to save you, maiden? Would he have hunted my little fox out, to its extinction?"

"...my hero..." she swallowed the lump in her throat, but it came right back, feeling as if it'd choke her. It wasn't an answer, but a thought... Heroes didn't actually exist. "If this is salvation... I think I'd prefer the alternative..." Again the words her bravery couldn't afford. She avoided looking at his face, scared to death that she'd see something, she didn't know what. His eyes, maybe. His eyes that would be looking at her, watching her, devouring her...

He didn't seem to care if she had anything else to say to the matter though, shoving her inside the place and closing the door behind. Her eyes were wide as they took in this new scene, with the sound of each lock thundering behind her. How was she still standing? Her legs didn't even feel attached to her body anymore. They should have been tired, numb, shaking, but she didn't know. She was just a torso, a head, and some arms floating, staring at the eyeless body of some victim like herself. Her teeth clenched, her fingers curled slightly. 'No.' The single word, abstract, soft, yet firm, distant and yet everywhere in her mind. Her voice, clearly. Refusing.

But before she could grasp onto that one, bitter and desperate word, he was approaching her, and as she tried to cling onto it she took a backwards step... And another... Her heart had fled, leaving pulsating, throbbing flesh in its wake... Even if there was no wound, no blood, she was sure there was a hole in her chest that, as he spoke, froze at the edges, creeping all the way inside her. Her hands grasped the cloth over her breast tightly, the pain was too much.

"I wonder if, after this, you'd like to see my head splattered against a tavern wall. Bleeding, dying... Would you be laughing, in joy? I wonder..."

His hands against her, and then bed beneath her, and she felt as if her body and soul had been separated. Her mind couldn't find an answer. Her body, exhausted from the terror and confusion and all the tension became slack, if only for the moment. Her eyes, though, stared up at him, even if her mind wasn't there to register any of it. Probably for the better...

After this? Would there be an 'after this', she wondered? The eyeless corpse echoed a silence that was her only answer. There was something stirring in her chest though, at the hole where her heart had abandoned her... That resilient, two-lettered word, as her fingers curled around the bed sheets. Her ears folded back, the fur on her tail standing on end as she gripped it and hoisted herself up, pushing herself back to get just a foot of space from him. Her teeth were bared, her eyes daggers, but she didn't know where it all came from. It didn't feel like rage, but her body moving on its own in defiance.

"...No..." the hiss came from between her teeth, just as faint as the first words she'd spoken to him.

Ah, Eden, the words in her mind laughed, laughed her name... You know it only hurts more when you do that.

[Anonymous]

And this was usually where time decided to freeze.

Bringing the girl to his place normally provided the most fun for him — they would squeal and squirm and wiggle in his grasp while tears ran freely from their eyes like river rapids, cascading down their pristine faces. And then! When they were finally in his hands, when he finally let his true madness shine in their eyes, they grew silent. The sudden hopelessness of their situation would dawn upon them, and they locked their eyes shut.  

For a select few, the most boring ones, these eyes never opened again. He was doing a service to society, really — all the whores and dumb broads and gambling stars had no place in his perfect world. Tabula rasa, he would mutter as he watched the life leave their eyes. Clean slate. No person would have to deal with their vapid existences ever again.

But this one, she was full of surprises. And what did he expect, when picking up a girl with fox-ears and a tail? She had not screamed when he had cracked that man's skull on the tavern wall, had not squirmed or wiggled away when he advanced steadily towards her...

His body was positioned on top of her now, knees digging into the bed, his arms holding him upward as he took in her gentle frame, wondering just where he should start. It had never been hard for him before — but then again, he never had a fox-woman in his grasp before. Excitement danced in his eyes as he wondered if the experience would be anything different, or were the ears and tail just an accessory? Damn, did it really matter?

She was so different, he knew. Not just in looks — oh, she would prove how different she was. In an act of defiance — she put space between the two of them, her ears folded back, eyes piercing into his soulless body, echoing at him a word with such silent strength that Fen blinked back in surprise for a brief moment.

"...No..."

The surprise was replaced with his excitement smirk, eyes waltzing in their sockets in amusement. He chuckled darkly, bringing a hand to her face, his thumb brushing her pale cheek. "I have a thing for girls like you," he admitted in a low tone, admittedly in his own little world now. Fen let his hand travel down to her neck, his fingers lightly gliding across her veins before moving said hand down to her neckline. Necks — besides the waist, they were the most beautiful part of a female body. How slender and delicate it could be — just a quick, well executed slash, and it was all over... So elegant it was, in its fragile nature...

"You like to think of yourself as different, don't you? Something better than the vaudeville displays the others would give me — screams of 'don't touch me there!' and 'please don't do this!' — they ring... and ring—"

As he spoke, Fen reached slowly, deliberately towards his waist, drawing out a slender, sharp dagger, no more than a finger's length in size. He marveled at it for a moment, before letting its sleek metal kiss her neck.

 "—and ring, and ring... constantly, ever so vehemently, in my ears. But you, you don't need a show, do you?" The dagger pressed closer and closer to her delicate flesh, and in a moment, Fen's eyes flashed wildly, as if he were about to slit her throat. But he laughed, taking the dagger away from such a sensitive area and instead, grabbed her hand, the one that had been bleeding before.  Such an action might've made her stumble a tad if she was still hoisting herself up by her hands — but that was no concern of Fen's. He pressed the dagger to the meaty part of her palm — near the thumb, where it was easiest to cut.

"Just one little word is enough for you— but it's too much for me—!"

If she did not move or squirm, the dagger would slice true through her flesh, letting her blood spill for Fen once more. It was a rather deep cut — but she would live, of course. Fen's eyes wildly flickered back and forth, watching the blood pool out of her injured hand. He tucked the dagger away in his sleeve, grasping her hand, letting her blood spill onto his flesh. He shivered as the liquid he both lusted and loathed licked at his hand, stained his hand... Just the sight of it alone made him not able to take this anymore—

He lowered his head now,  his breath tickled her slender neck again. Fen's lips brushed against her neck, kissing it softly, eyes closed for a brief moment. His hands played down her neck, staining it with her own blood, and now, they moved down her chest, a smile playing on his lips. He drew himself upright, so that he could look her in the eyes again, hands playing with her body, moving them now down her waist, feeling her curves with an impatient hand, the scent of her blood driving him off the wall.

 It took a strained patience for him to retrain himself as a lone finger trailed down her stomach and down to her belly button. His eyes took in all of her body. So fragile and delicate and defiant...

Wouldn't she look so much better if she were bleeding? Suddenly, the image came to him — the fox nicked and cut everywhere, blood streaming trickling down her arms, her legs, her stomach...

"To seek something other than salvation from the one who saves you... could you really defy your god in such a fashion?" the blood mage pondered with his trademark smirk. He let his dagger fall out of his sleeve and grabbed it lightly in his hand, tracing it down the mountains of her body, down her chest, down her stomach — not cutting her, not, but letting the metal kiss her smoothly, the scent of her blood making him lust for even more of it — but he reeled himself it, his breath steady, for these few, sweet moments.

"I am your god tonight," he whispered breathlessly, his eyes almost calm as he took in her form. He was not seeing her as she was — but covered in blood, her blood, sweet rubies and blood! And he could make it a reality, with just a swish of his blade...

[Anonymous]

Leaned over her, he suddenly seemed so huge... not at all scrawny, just big and encompassing, his arms and legs like extensions of a cage she couldn't escape. She closed her eyes tight as he touched his hand to her face, an almost delicate gesture as he spoke, trembling and drawing her head back as his fingers trailed down her throat. It was clear she was struggling, fighting not to show the fear that was now so clear, escaping through her pores into every tiny shudder.

As his hands roamed her body she tried to tell herself, remind herself how many times how many men had touched her. How many times she smiled, or glared, or whatever it was they told her they wanted. This man though... what he wanted was more than just a fuck, wasn't it? That foul corpse in the corner had made everything crystalline. Her body was firm, it twisted a little as his hands roamed it, small jerking reactions as it unconsciously tried to escape the nightmare... Like she was fumbling in her sleep, desperate to escape...

'A nightmare,' she thought to herself, clinging to this word now. 'Yes, this is just a nightmare. When its over, I'll wake up.'

Yes, yes. those words answered darkly. When its over, you'll wake up. And then we can have more fun.

Eden didn't know how to answer this man, what answer could he have wanted? He didn't seem to care any other time he'd spoken to her what she might have said or thought... But as he brought the blade over her body, it jolted into perfect stillness. Like an animal keenly aware that the smallest move -and every move was a wrong move- would lead to a stillness even more perfect.

As his dagger saw to the flesh of her hand, somewhere in the back of her teeth the reverberation of a tiny whimper came, cranking her mouth slowly open, the tiny humming whine rising into a small, but shrill throaty cry. It was just enough to make it feel like the nightmare was really beginning... Just the way you knew when it started it was going to end up this way. The dark forest, however innocent looking, carried the air of impending doom that settled in the barren pit of ones stomach and the putrid-tasting bile on the back of the throat... And then the eyes would come from its depths when you were lost in it. Then the claws, and the fangs, and the feet that never ran fast enough...

But there was no waking from this.

Eden bit down on her lip, hard. The tender flesh beneath her teeth gave way too easily, the stress and tension manifesting all itself in that small chomp, producing the tiniest drizzle of blood. His soft breath and lips on her neck gave the glimpse of the gentle dream in the razor-sharp nightmare, the illusion that maybe this could be okay. It was brief, not even a moments passing, but her mind and body had desperately clung to it long enough to make it seem like an eternity, her body even relaxing just a little at the thought of being in a lovers arms. A soft warm bed with sunlight dancing around it and the smell of 'home' that she never knew.

His hand at her throat, smearing her own wet blood against it, though, was a cruel, sobering reality. Still she kept her eyes closed, trying to black out the horror of it all. Trying to imagine it as melted chocolate, that his lustful hands were those of some well-to-do-looking man she'd stolen away from one of the other Peaches. That she coveted him as much as he did her.

"...yes..." she whispered in response to his bold claim, his words a vague echo of what she herself was trying to tell herself. It was a bold contradiction to what she'd last said, but she tried desperately to believe it. He was her violent, lustful god, in utter command of her fate.

'Fool.' This time the voice was harshly different, yet also familiar. It was a voice she'd only heard once before but would remember her entire life. A voice she'd wondered for, sought for, loathed and pleaded for. The fox which had put itself in her and made her the feared and hated thing she was in her home, that had picked her fate up and set it down in this place. This place, now, at this very moment, was the culmination of that wretched beast. She should have been on the islands. She should have been at peace, happy, surrounded by friends and family...

It was only a word, but it reminded her that she was not as defenseless as the engulfing fear she'd been so paralyzed by would have her believe. Slowly her eyes dared to open, knowing that if she was careful, she could survive this night yet. This man clearly had more to him than that which first met the eye, though... His strength and the smell of blood on him were thick enough that she knew that well. Still, even with this newfound determination, her nerves were shot to hell, but at least her tremblings were no longer purely fueled by fear... but that growing outrage as well.

[Anonymous]

Fen was a tool of war, someone who was fashioned by a malicious god that cared not for the world's innocent, peaceful civilians. Out there, out on the moonlit streets — whenever blood was shed, Fen would be there. Wild, crazed, laughing —  hands outstretched, bending the blood like an elemental would bend fire, earth, water. Yes!

To be in one's element, to bathe in it, was both a primeval blessing and masochistic curse. All of his muscles were tense; he was built to kill, not to hold something carefully in his arms and cherish it, like a little girl would her pet cat. He told himself, wait, wait, but he was impatient, greedy, hungry.

She wasn't making this any easier for him. God, she was a devil — perhaps she was skilled in a careful method of torture herself. See, how she bit her tender lips, and blood dripped forth from them — the fox was teasing him, she had to be! He pictured her hiding a secret smile from him, laughing at how her small power over him, which stemmed deeply from her blood.

Society could go on and on about how no two people were alike, but Fen had always figured that was a lie. For everyone he'd ever trapped in his bed always ended up being the same. Not today. This fox had sat up and dared to defy him, she'd let sweet blood drip from her lips, like ambrosia from the Fountain of Youth. She was an enigma and she was his —  how had he been so lucky to find this catch?

"Devil," he accused with a small smirk, lowering his head down near her lips, stopping when his were not a breath away from them. Slowly, he brought his lips to hers, kissing them softly, his hand near her cheek, thumb brushing across her cheek bone as his lips meshed with hers, tongue delicately licking the blood away.

He was excited now — moreso than before, as he moved away, taking her other hand in his, dagger still poised. "You enjoy tormenting me, I think," he mused silently, pressing the dagger closer to the meaty flesh near her thumb, smiling wickedly. The dagger sliced through again, letting blood drip from her hands, those incandescent red rubies spilling once more... "I wonder —  do you smile to yourself, as you let blood drip down your lips?" He held her hand in his, watching the blood fall, before letting it drop onto the bed, resting a hand on her chest.

" 'I am driving him crazy,' you must be thinking. And you love it, don't you? Maybe you are just as devilish as myself. Or maybe you know not what you do to me..." He poised the dagger under her top now, letting the fabric breathe and struggle under the metal. That kiss had been enough to throw him over to edge —  he needed her, now. He was more tense than ever before —  a poised tiger, readying itself to strike, to take what was rightfully his.

Fen let the fabric rip under his knife, exposing her chest, feasting his eyes on her bare form. It was only then that her response to his claim met his ears, a low and humble, "...yes..." As usual, she confused him —  and his eyes lit up once again, like a little boy who had just moved onto the next level of his video game.

"You are quite indecisive, aren't you?" he muttered, running the dagger down her stomach once more. He delayed himself no further, and, with a quick, lithe movement, made a slash horizontally across her stomach, eyes widening as blood poured from her body once more.

The dagger seemed to have a mind of its own. He moved it down towards her skirt, and, forgetting the dramatics, slashed the fabric off of her, letting the ripped pieces fall to his bed in silence. There was only one barrier between him and her now — but Fen was waiting, watching, to see what she'd do, now that he was so close now, to taking her, to making her his. He let his fingers hook onto the crook of her underwear and looked up at her again, his eyes searching her features. Did he spot a bit of determination in those apple red eyes? Or was he simply imagining things?

"Where is that spirit you showed me, hm? Did it bleed out of your system?" Here, he stopped, to look in her in the eyes, his own wild, lost in a world that swam in blood.

"I hope not. Defiant blood is always the best sort of brand."

[Anonymous]

She froze again as he kissed her, catching her off guard once again with how gentle it seemed, for only that moment. Eden wrenched her eyes tightly shut, not pulling away, but not responding either, again those thoughts fluttered to life in her mind, like waving ones hand through a nest of butterflies... or swinging a bat at a bee hive. It stung painfully, and sweetly. Yes, the price of honey could be a costly one.

[center:2br8x90d]You like it.[/center:2br8x90d]

Those three words again, taunting her, bashing their conviction into her mind and soul and body until it was truth. But they also brought that terror... Terror that made the words 'god-forsaken' breath ice into her.

The iron taste of her own blood was on her tongue, a taste of bitter nostalgia. It wasn't that she'd never tasted her own blood before, not that her lips hadn't been made to bleed at the hand of a rough customer, but it'd never been mixed properly. It hadn't been given the right blend of fear, pain, and frenzied confusion to give it this particular weight of reminiscence...

Gritting her teeth, a shrill whimper burst through, her body lifting up slightly against the slicing pain bearing into her hand. His words only confused her further... How could he think she enjoyed this? You like it. the words echoed softly in her head. She didn't. She couldn't. How could anyone? The pain, though not the greatest, left her feeling dizzy, undoubtedly due to the rising blood loss as well. Not that her despair wasn't mind-numbing enough. In the blur though, she could somehow see the sharper image of something else... The tint of red... a red not her blood but a streak in his hair... His black hair. His piercing amethyst eyes. The wicked smirk, delighting in her agony.

It was a brief hallucination, surely nothing but. Surely... yes, it had to be. Yet her heart ached at it. Her mind felt as if it were ripping itself apart, trying to find the understanding so deeply buried at its core somewhere. Did it even exist? Was she just going insane?

The dagger cut away her clothes and her body threatened to curl into itself in response. The sudden sting of cool air at her bare skin was rarely a pleasant one. Usually when she was hot, and covered in the thin veil of summers sweat... The heat in her skin now was from her hearts frenzied racing, the sweat one of distress. The cold against her only made her feel all the more vulnerable - even someone like her, whose bare body earned her survival.

And then, it seemed, the air bit viciously at her stomach. For a moment her eyes remained wide, in disbelief. The small cuts on her hands had been painful, yet they hadn't entrenched her in her madness as deeply as this one had. For that moment, her body didn't respond, even as his dagger was quick to cut away her remaining clothes and the air chilled it. She was still, like a doll, like a rabbit in the corner of its den with the fox peeking in... his finger curling around her underwear. Her body tingled and resisted as she remembered crueler sensations.

The cool atmosphere suddenly bore down relentlessly on the bleeding wound, her hands flying to it as her legs curled up as best they could, trying to push and kick her away from him. It was a desperate, frenzied action, not even against him precisely. She wouldn't hurt him, she wouldn't! She swore it to herself. The thought was quick and panicked in her mind, in her body. Just get her away, legs please, get her away from him, get up and move.

Her head tossed back into the bed, she tried to bite down on the pain and the confusion, but her mouth instead gaped open, making no sound, gasping for a cry she couldn't find. Suddenly she was somewhere else, where the darkness was deep and well-known. Not just one, but many corpses... so many, piled up beneath her. A dumping ground. A holocaust. A battlefield dotted with flame, and no sky. Her mind frenzied against the pain she remembered, but had never felt before. Blades, slashing, piercing, claws dragging deep against her flesh, deep into her, tearing her apart. Her stomach, her chest, her arms and legs, her face and... the chill of terror that dragged deep, bloody scars across her soul.

[center:2br8x90d]Isn't this beautiful? This hell is for you! I made it just for you! If you're my Eden, I'll be your perfect inferno.

Laughter, the laughter, the piercing laughter.

Now... Let's see what paradise looks like inside...[/center:2br8x90d]

Inside, inside, he was inside of her, over and over... Finally, she screamed out, a cry of primitive and instinctive fear. It burned, it froze, it was in every piece of her. Every pore of her skin, every strand of hair, each bit of nail and fleshy organ, in the immeasurable soul and every dripping ounce of her blood... Every drop that flooded down and out of her. It was more than just the cuts and the rape, it was the brutality, the laughter, echoing... How could she have ever forgotten?

"Please, please!" she choked, holding her hand out against him, palm against his chest. And then her delirium suddenly ceased, eyes wide as she felt his heart under her fingers, in his chest.

[center:2br8x90d]This is yours, too.[/center:2br8x90d]

Her body slouched back down, at a loss. She didn't even know where she was anymore. The corpse in the corner was surely the same. Lost, somewhere, with no idea how to get back. "...please..." she whispered again, residual, it held no shine of desperation or hysteria. What was she begging for? Her life? For an end to the pain... that had been branded into her being. Even if nothing was clear, that much was obvious. Her earlier words had tried to prepare her for this... I've been here before.

His eyes were mad. Just as driven as those amethyst orbs she'd glimpsed in her delusions... So sudden they'd been, so engrossing, now so far, leaving her cold and frigid, shivering just slightly. The faint, comforting images of 'home', of 'love' were gone... Just the dreadful pain of a reality she'd seen before. She could take solace in that, couldn't she? She was there. And she was here. It was all the same, she could get through this. Her hand, painted in her own crimson lifted, fingers spread, to the side of his face. It was really cold, wasn't it? She wanted to be bathed in that inferno he'd promised.

"...if I defy God... I'll burn..." she whispered, dazed, the warmth of a hot tear nagging at the corner of her eye. Her heart wasn't even in it, that single tear that fought its way through, to not even receive her own acknowledgement. Her mind was dancing somewhere between everything that had and was happening. She didn't want this, but she needed it. If she didn't get warm, she'd die. If she died... if she died... She didn't want that. She didn't want this.

[center:2br8x90d]I'm the only one who can give you what you need.[/center:2br8x90d]

[Anonymous]

What could possibly be a better sight to Fen's wild eyes than a maiden, trapped in his bed, with blood soaking her delicate skin? Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. Happiness was a beautiful girl in his grasp, locked up in a special sort of cage that had no key to free her — none existed in this godless world. Countless tears had forever stained this bed — tears, sweat, blood, and god, mostly blood — all of it was his, and his alone! No matter how hard you washed the mattress itself, the sin would never leave. Their crushed hopes, worthless dreams, plans for a better, brighter tomorrow — dead. Utterly, hopelessly dead.

Reality blurred as buttons and noisy zippers came undone, the blood's scent reaching inside his brain, his nerves fried, on edge, almost already off that edge, hanging between the crevices between sanity and his own illusions. The only thing that was real was her — the Fox, bloodstained and helpless, without a soul that would save her, cut off from the real world. In this shack was Fen's own little dimension, where he was the sole god, where he made the rules, where everyone else was forced to obey.  Obey, obey, they echoed in his mind as Fen took his prize, deliberately invading the last bit of her personal space, his eyes filled with a lust and euphoria unexplainable to mortals who had never dealt with a being like Fen before.

He was lost now — truly, there was no calling back for him, once he was inside. His ecstasy, blended with his roasting nerves, that adrenaline that reared from his instinct to kill at the sight of blood, was indescribably delicious. Nothing this dirtball of a planet had to offer was better than this.

There was no past, there was no present, there was no future. Just him, and this fox; just him, and this blood; just Fen...

He took in everything at once, feeding on her fear, the way her arms curled up uselessly at him, begging, "Please, please!" As if he were remotely even human right now — as if he could really understand anything anyone was saying at this time. These words were foggy, bouncing off his ears as if she were a million miles away, standing on the opposite side of the world, trying to yell to him, but he was just too far away. Too lost.

Too lost...

"...please..."

It was only making him go harder, in his own crazed frenzy, his eyes waltzing over her fragile image, his hands shaking as they caressed her skin, making him wonder just how long he could last, without killing her. How would he do it? Her throat looked pretty enough, (he said about all the girls he brought home) maybe he could wrap his hands around it — but no, he could see her neck cracking, it would make a sickening sound that would indefinitely ruin the mood. Or maybe he'd use the knife — yes, it'd proven handy enough today, hadn't it? He'd do her a favor — a nice, clean sweep across the neck, or maybe even...

Yes, how about right to the heart? He traced his eyes over her body wildly, finding it hard to make approximations in his head at a time like this — of all the times for this! — but yes, her heart, he could even pinpoint its spot. Years and years of studying the human body made it so easily to tell where her heart would be — what a delightful sound it'd make if he stabbed her, right in its center! Oh, her head would roll back so beautifully, maybe she'd even make a few sputtering sounds before her eyes let the light slip out of them, and left this earth, as he would explode.

He let the knife slip from his side again, holding it poised in one lithe hand, his smile more wild and deranged than ever before. Maybe before he could've controlled himself, reigned back in his lust and let him appear somewhat sane, suave, smooth — but no, now, the true murderer shone through. God, her heart would be so beautiful, would it  not? Shining with its evident pulchritude, he'd feel it beating to its inevitable death through the metal of his blade...

"... if I defy God... I'll burn..."

Where the hell had her hand came from, touching his face so tenderly? And where had those words come from — had he not closed away all her words, with his laughter, with his lust? His eyes darted from here to there; the monster, sorting out a million thoughts running through his head at once. With his free hand, he pressed her fingers to his face, his heart beating faster, racing, racing, racing...

Who was that corpse, who lay silent in the corner, with its eyes plucked out of its sockets? Was it female, or male? Was it someone he raped, or someone he had killed for a job, and just forgot to take the body back for payment? Or... had the eyes been for payment? He couldn't remember — he could never remember. People were just stock characters, put on this earth to enhance his story. But if he killed her — he would always remember. He would always remember this strange fox who wasn't another vaudeville prop on his stage. The fox who silently came along, the fox who could chuckle darkly at death and summon up the willpower to refuse him. No, she had said. No! She had told him 'no' ...

"You learn too quickly," he grunted bitterly, mostly to himself. As his own twisted euphoria came, Fen could hear the knife's metal clanking quietly to the floor.

[Anonymous]

Eden's head pressed back into the bed and the pillows, neck exposed as he moved inside her. Her fingers gripped at the sheets until it felt like the bones would snap apart. Her chest heaved, slow but visible as she tried to hold her body in control. She was used to this, this was her job for gods sake...

Yes, this was familiar. She could take solace, if only in this. Did she want it to last then? Did she want to try to keep him amused, keep him pleased for as long as she could? To avoid whatever came after? Or did she just want it to end... Did she just want to face it and get it over with, come what may? Slowly her legs wrapped up around him, as they normally might, her body moving awkwardly against him, questioning and dumbed by her minds unwillingness to completely comply. Deliberate, though, slowly her movements were as fluid as they should have been for a seasoned whore like herself.

[center:13n5x3tx]Its good to see you terrified, but you know, fear is a worthless emotion.[/center:13n5x3tx]

He moved in a frenzy, and there was no denying the pain that drew small cries from her mouth, new, unwilling tears at the corners of her eyes. She was sure she'd had worse though, at the hands of men who had paid. So she was sure could bear with the discomfort... If she could separate her mind from the situation, perhaps she could lose herself like him. Maybe, maybe... the pain would numb.

There were a few times though, that his roughness caused her body to halt, cringing to recover as she tried to console herself, tried to lose herself, tried to stay mindful and mindless all at once. Each time, though, she willed herself back into motion. Each time, stronger and more willful than before. But the only thing willful was her body, moving like a machine. Even with the cuts and the blood, it knew the rhythms all too well.

[center:13n5x3tx]Come on, you might as well try to have some fun.[/center:13n5x3tx]

She felt like a puppet on this mans invisible strings... This man, and that man. Her eyes were heavy lidded, her body giving new heat, the thin sheen of sweat glistening across her trembling chest. She'd lost a lot of blood hadn't she? And it was only pumping through her faster now... Despite the sweat and warmth, her skin was looking a little pale, and she felt numb... Both, though, she realized, could have easily been from the horror. That she wasn't bleeding and sweating ice was almost amazing. The heat, though was only at the surface. Like curling up under a blanket on a bed of ice... it felt futile to crave the warmth... Reaching for it, clamoring for it, working for it -that word burned on her conscious, working, she was always working- but she'd never have it. It'd never be hers. The warm bed in the morning light.

It was always funny, where ones mind went when they were in the throes of passion. When they were in the midst of the mindless, exhausting tedium that was their everyday drudgery.

'This is different though,' she told herself. It was perhaps the clearest and most coherent path of thinking she'd had since she'd entered the bar - something that seemed to have happened eons ago. 'he's no customer, you don't have to butter up and please him as he likes. He's got your life in his hands. Show him some of it.'

Thoughtless, her other arm curled around the back of his neck, pulling herself up just a little to move her hips against him at a more... pleasing angle for herself. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, her ears perked up, as she moaned out, a small mewling of pleasure, as well as a pleading to the gods of sex for more. More, mindless, just let it all go blank... just let it all fall to these natural cadences. Let the pain be numb, just the same as the rest of her. Let this monster make a monster of her. Her eyes opened slightly, staring to the ceiling, too heavy-lidded to make anything out but the blur of him over her.

The glimmer of steel caught her eye though, grinding her thoughts to a halt, eyes widening gently, though her body kept moving. The look on his face knocked her back into her fear, and for a moment, her heart leapt into her chest again, thudding painfully... Pounding. Like her fists on that door, just there, behind him, pounding, screaming for someone to hear, to come, to help! The tiny her inside herself was suddenly at a loss for anything more than waiting.

But his hand was holding hers tight against his face, and his eyes moved about frantically... Even as the knife clammered to the floor she could feel the tell-tale signs of his body slowly ceasing... For a long moment, she closed her eyes again, taking in his words, taking in that sound... the blade on the floor. It was gone. What did he mean she learned? Did it even matter? Her body was exhausted, worn and torn and bleeding... For a moment everything seemed so quiet. There was the heavy breathing, and his words still echoing softly through her brain, but otherwise, it was stifling.

[center:13n5x3tx]Scream! Scream! Scream! Scream![/center:13n5x3tx]

The words were far, now, though. Somehow faded. That man... had hated the silence, hadn't he? He couldn't stand the quiet that lingered afterwards, and so, it just happened, over and over again. Was that this man? Were they one in the same? The cold chill quickly settled over her again, and a nausea circled inside her... though it'd been hours since she'd last ate anything. She was thankful for that, really. She wanted to be quiet. She wanted it again. She liked it, didn't she? As long as she was still alive... as long as she was still alive she could endure it... again, and again, and again... As long as she was alive.

But the cold, to her, was the unbearable thing. It was the very chill of death, the very thing she wanted to oppose.

"Can I burn?" The words were scarcely there, a breath buried in her labored panting. It was soft, like a question asked only to the self. "...I'm cold..."

But the man in her mind didn't respond. The words had wrung themselves out, it seemed, the quiet slaughtering them. Even her tiny whispers had not summoned them to their fever pitch. Slowly, she looked up at him, the only one there with her. The only one who could hear her. There were still so many ways he could destroy her, and she wasn't sure if she could muster up that previous defiance. The fox, too, was as silent as it'd ever been, and suddenly she felt so very empty. The words wouldn't numb her, the fox wouldn't bolster her.

'If you're going to die, at least own it.'

Pressing one hand against the bed, she sat herself up slowly so she was nearer to him. It was a ritual she knew, from that 'long ago' that never was, yet must have been. It was the game of pretend she played, when he was done with his, to make herself work again. To start the machine, activate the heart. Carry on, like nothing happened, until the end. Until it happened again.

Her half-shut eyes made everything blurry, and the bloodloss and exhaustion undoubtedly -always- helped. Always, always, always, yes always she was bleeding. She smiled a little, as she let the sunlight flood in, and the imaginary warmth wrap around her. He could be smiling too, couldn't he? Whoever he was. It didn't have to be him, or him, or anyone she knew, but he could be. He could be whispering sweet nothings, or stroking her hair. Yes, she was a perfect puppet. So wonderfully created she could perform her own plays. Softly, she ran her fingers over his lips, softly she kissed them. This was what she wanted. She loved this. It was her drug, her euphoria.

Even if she died, in the last moment, everything was perfect.

[Anonymous]

His mind was broken — that was easy enough to discern in its own right — but now, as his own sierra-red eyes locked with those of the fox's, he could only think over and over, this one is different... this one is different. Oh, he had known that she wasn't like the rest, but only now was this fact sinking in his head, repeating like a broken record as if the very thought that he could find another 'actor' on this stage — someone who stood out from the extras and those that hid behind the scenes — was beyond his comprehension. And at this state of mind, it probably was. On the verge of release, each and every one of her movements, from subtle to lewd, was toasting his nerves, his adrenaline rising to its peak.

Here she was! Moving with him, letting out a moan of pleasure that was sweeter than any sound Fen ever had the privilege to hear. This was a first, the last bits of his sanity noted. The blood mage dominated women — never had he found one who was dragged into his bed who could move with him, who could let out the smallest of moans for more. Suddenly, just her movements alone was enough to keep him going — for that one split second in Fen's life, it wasn't just about the blood. It wasn't just about the blood. What a foreign thought, but for that moment in time, Fen embraced it, an ecstasy washing over him that he had never known before... His moment came then, rushing inside her, Fen panting, in

"Can I burn?" ... "...I'm cold..."

She was smiling, running her delicate finger down his lips, softly kissing him. Surprise washed through Fen, sending a shiver down his spine as he wrapped her arms around her fragile frame, kissing her back, with a tenderness he never knew he possessed. He couldn't figure her out, but desperately — as he found the strength to cradle something in his arms — for once in his bloodstained life, he wanted to unwrap all her secrets. How was it that she, this stranger, could make Fen seem like such a little boy? He squeezed his eyes shut as he held her — as if he was afraid she'd vanish if he let himself bathe in this strange reality. Here was Fen, the hunter, not bred to hold anything in his hands, with a live woman in his bed, after all had been said and done.

"Who are you?" was all he was able to whisper, a croaking, dead question that floated up into the air. It was all he could say — Mr. Metaphors could not possibly scrounge up anything better than that. With thoughts of blood still rushing through his head, dizzy and dazed from how impossibly unbelievable this night had been, Fen could say no more. For fear that he would unleash the monster that craved the dagger which lay on the floor...

[center:q5p5gy3t]———[/center:q5p5gy3t]

Morning. It came unannounced, but today, the sun did not surprise Fen. Dust wafted breezily around the room as the blood mage parted his curtains for the first time in his life, letting the sunshine smile obnoxiously in his face. Fen squinted at the boisterous beams of light, shaking his head at how lost he had become since last night...

She was still there, in his bed. Alive. With her eyeballs and blood still intact, heart pumping serenely in her chest. Not a drop of blood could be found on her person, but this was mostly for his sake rather than hers. The blood mage had cast a purification spell at the crack of dawn, eliminating any traces of blood that could be found in the area, including the drops that had been on her body. There was no room for the monster to play now — it was just Fen this morning; a grump, cranky, tired Fen, but he was Fenrisulfr Rotht all the same.

A coffeepot bubbled on a beat-up stove, cheerfully roasting his coffee beans. Fen was not much of a coffee person, but it wasn't every day he needed to wake up early. On the contrary, it was quite rare for Fen to ever see much of the sun. His chalky white skin could easily attest to these facts...

"Why isn't she dead, Fen?" the dagger that sat in his back pocket seemed to say, glinting ominously at him, the sun's rays shining down upon it, giving it a sinister edge. The answer to that question was strangely uncomplicated — she was not just an extra, that was obvious enough. Nor was she a villain, like Raven's Edge back in Connlaoth, made for him to overcome. No... she was another main character. He was sure she had her own story, and to kill her — he'd regret it forever. Something inside Fen just knew that ending her life was not something he could easily do.

The coffee was ready, it seemed. He grabbed the coffeepot with his hand, focusing steadily on pouring it into the cup...

Technically, it'd be easy. A quick slice to the throat...

These thoughts unsteadied his hand. His hand shook, the coffeepot slipped, the scalding liquid pouring onto his hand, completely missing the cup. Fen grimaced, holding back a multitude of swears, before letting the cup drop to the ground, as he did with all things that annoyed him. He then wondered what the point of being quiet was if he was just going to make a mess of things, like he always did. Had she woken up, the sound of the chaos in the kitchen?

Scowling, he kicked the broken pieces of the cup aside, getting a fresh cup, pouring the remnants of what was left in the coffeepot in the cup, shaking his head. Instead of drinking it, however, he found himself moving back to the main room, letting his eyes wander over his home. The corpse in the corner had been put away — in the back rooms; he'd figure out later wherever the hell it was supposed to go. The smell of blood had been washed away with some incense he'd kept lying around — as much as he loved blood, as much as he was a masochist as well as a sadist... walking on that constant edge was not something he could do twenty-four/seven.

Fen took seat on a chair near the bed, so that the back of the chair faced his front. The coffee cup was still warm in his hands, the smell of freshly roasted coffee beans wafting through his nose. Still, he did not take a sip. He wondered half-heartedly if she'd been crazy enough to accept a cup of coffee from the man who'd cut her up and raped her last night. He wondered if he was crazier to even make her a cup in the first place.

On the bed hung a white robe — since he'd ripped her clothes to shreds last night, he figured she'd need at least something to cover herself. Would she leave, as soon as she'd awake, take the robe and flee, spit out promises for revenge and vow to never want to see him again? ... Of course she would, wouldn't anyone, in her situation? Then again, Fen had never been in this situation before. Everyone who climbed in his bed ended up dead, that was the rule.

She'd been audacious enough to break it— no, she'd been important enough to make him break it.

"Rise and shine," Fen whispered in a sing-song voice, grinning. "You wanted to burn, didn't you? So I've brought the sun here, just for you." He gestured to the curtains, to the smoky dust that edged into the room. All the while, his eyes were fixated on her, an intent curious painting his normally apathetic features.

She was the only main character he had ever found — the only exception. The only one alive.

[Anonymous]

Ahh, he was warm. And she was so tired. All the terror, all the confusion, the blood loss and, of course, the sex. His lips returned her kiss, his arms wrapped around her tightly, and for a moment, the illusion was real. Was she dead? She had to have been dead, right? For such a silly fantasy to be 'real'.

She didn't mind though, because she couldn't feel the pain so much anymore. Her eyes eased shut slowly, pulled away from her slip into slumber only slightly by the sound of his voice. She couldn't help but smile a little, her voice distant, groggy as she nodded slowly off.

"...you're asking that now...?"

[center:21irabqr]-------[/center:21irabqr]

It'd been a strange dream. She'd found herself submerged, floundering under the surface of some thick sea, cold and stormy. Desperately she'd struggled upward, not actually ever knowing what up was, it was so dark... the pitch of night, it must have been. There was never any sensation that she was in urgent need of air, just a panicked feeling urging her to move out of that place.

However, her body had succumbed to some subconscious exhaustion, and even there in the depths of dreams her mind fell even deeper into darkness. Floating ever downward into the seemingly bottomless depths. The turbulence became calm. The cold, warm. Her mind eased back to her, and there was a light filtering in from somewhere above. From where she was, looking up, she could see clearly the deep red she was engulfed in. But it wasn't fear the flooded her mind then, she didn't have a moment to spare for it before she felt the ground beneath her. The red softened, dancing through the colors magnificently until finally they were as the clear blue sky, with the warm sun gently beaming through clouds.

She could tell she was smiling. Humming a soft song, her hands folded over her stomach, fiddling with a small yellow flower. Her head was rested against someones lap, and she could see the shadow of them over her, feel their hands in her hair. If it was a man or woman, she couldn't tell. Her mother maybe? A lover she couldn't recognize... No, there were no lovers she'd dream of so fondly. No lovers that could make her feel so safe.

"Eden. Are you all right now?" the voice was distorted on the soft breeze, she still couldn't tell who it was...

"Mm, I'm sorry..." her mouth moved, her voice came... yet, it didn't sound like her voice. Not the way she knew her voice at least. But at the same time, there was no denying it as hers. "I'll be all right now."

They were talking about something important. She, and this person. This person deep inside of her. She had no control over her body, as if she were merely some guest within, looking on. But she had to see... she had to see their face. Desperately she tried to move, to sit up, to arc her neck, to lift her hands even to feel this person against her fingertips. They were talking to her, but she was so focused on her attempt she couldn't hear them... If only she could see them.

"Its oka-- ..... jus-.... -aith..."

She squinted, her hands floating in front of their face - she could feel their breath. Yet just there, so close, there was a shattering. Like the sound of glass, and she could feel it, everything, crumbling around her. The voice. The sky. The safety. The red sea began to pour down again, and her body was suddenly, quickly, floating up... Faster and faster, up into the darkness, and then her mind was gone again.

[center:21irabqr]------[/center:21irabqr]

There was warmth, a pleasant smell. Sunlight trickled in from somewhere. Her apple eyes blinked, a small tired yawn escaped her lips. Coffee?

"Rise and shine," ... "You wanted to burn, didn't you? So I've brought the sun here, just for you."

That voice. Immediately she jumped up, feeling much like she'd leapt out of her skin. A fist full of covers was instinctively pulled over her as her wide eyes were fixed hard on the figure of her tormentor. Everything looked... somehow different though. The blood was gone, the body, the sun coming in almost made the place look normal. And there he sat, looking at her with a cup of coffee in his hand. An image of normalcy. Somehow she wasn't absolutely overcome with the last nights fear, but instead, the peace she'd felt in that strange dream lingered.

She was still alive. The blood was cleaned from her, and she felt oddly refreshed, though she wasn't sure if that was necessarily his doing. Slowly she looked down at herself, looked around, trying to make sure she wasn't dreaming. Unwittingly, her hand lifted up to one of her ears and gave it a small tug -her way of pinching herself- to which she gave a wince. Well, she was relatively sure if she was dreaming it wouldn't be of this place again, or this man. He seemed less threatening now, had he been under some spell last night? Some derangement? It certainly looked that way... Sighing softly, she relaxed a little, though her tail curling around her protectively.

"...Good... morning..." she said slowly, a little unsure. Well, it was definitely a good morning, she supposed, seeing as last night she hadn't been sure she'd end up alive. Suddenly she felt a rise in her, perhaps because he looked so docile at present. Her timid expression gave way to a small scowl befitting of a fox, and she suddenly jumped up, grabbing a pillow and dismissing the blanket as she stomped over to him, taking the coffee before bashing him over the head with the cushion. "You know if it was sex you wanted you could have asked! That S&M bullshit costs extra, yanno?" she blurted, feeling particularly bold. In the daylight, renewed as she was, she suddenly felt a lot more capable. If he tried anything, she could turn into a monster too. Her mind was clear now. Even if it was exhausting and a risk to be seen by other people, she wasn't about to be anyones victim, and was infuriated with herself for nearly becoming so.

Huffing, she let the her pillow-holding-hand drop to her side, eyes glaring small daggers at him as she extended her hand to give the coffee back. Oh how she'd love to exact revenge on him much greater than that, but she wasn't going to spill his coffee all over him. Carve his face off, emasculate him, or even just make use of the Madra Ruan and eat him whole, show him who the real monster was - a small grin curved onto her lips - but she wasn't about to make a mess of his coffee... Her priorities were seriously askew. If nothing else, maybe she could at least get a big payment out of him for everything he'd put her through.

[Anonymous]

"...Good...morning..."

Was it, though? Fen wouldn't know what a good morning was, but if he had to guess... this would definitely be one of them. Never before had he seen the sun shine so brightly through his dusty, cracked windows, nor had he ever bothered to straighten up this mess of a shack in the middle of Nowheresville, Ketra, preferring to live in the squalor that was his life — bound by blood and black books with ripped bindings, lost in his world drenched in those liquid red rubies. He had dragged her in this world — she forced him to let in light.

Wait— wait, had she just said, 'good morning'? Fen — who liked to think himself of the intelligent sort — for a brief moment, let confusion wash over his features, his sierra-red eyes widening, muscles tense. Good morning. From her tone, she wasn't being sarcastic either, although some form of hesitance did seep in her voice. It was the last thing he had expected — for her to greet him just as the morning did, albeit shaky, albeit unsure. He sucked back in pure confusion, however, replacing it with his normal smirk and tilted head, fingers wrapped tightly around the coffee mug.

But then, she changed — almost as quickly as he could switch, from one light of the spectrum to the other. Before Fen could even comprehend what was going on, the fox's scowl lit up her features, as her timid frame — which did not seem so timid now — took up the pillow in her hands and smashed the poor, unsuspecting blood mage over the head. Fen half-heartedly but up his hands to stop the blow— but not even he had good reflexes at this time in the morning; the pillow made direct contact, a damn good blow for someone who he'd figured was malleable. If she had done that last night...!

Fen put a hand to his head, wincing, as if to steady himself — it was embarrassing, how something so small like a pillow could stun him for a moment, at least, when he was 'clean' of blood. Nevertheless, he found himself grinning like an idiot, still wincing, hand clutching the side of his head, fingers entangled in his messy white locks. "Ah— someone's fierce!" He found himself chuckling as the blow seemed to fade, shaking his head, eyes briefly closed. "You're not as malleable as I thought, hm?" He raised his hands up in mock surrender as he spoke, hoping to avoid another blow.

"You know if it was sex you wanted you could have asked! That S&M bullshit costs extra, yanno?"

Oh? So she was that type. But even upon knowing this, Fen couldn't possibly see himself paying for something he could already just ta—

Wait, why was he even entertaining this line of thought? Why was she able to stand in front of him and whack him with pillows and yell about how she probably would've just given the sex to him anyway? How could she look him into the eyes after what he had done? Suddenly, the universe was upside down — surely he wasn't on the same planet as he had been last night. Maybe his last employer got fed up with him for not bringing the bodies back on a timely fashion and dismissed him off the face of their earth. That line of thinking was more plausible than the fact that he hadn't completely broken her last night.

But he let the movie run through his head again— her kissing him, her moving with him...

"My sincerest apologies, miss," Fen retorted, pressing his head to his heart, bowing his head slightly, as he was anything similar to a gentleman. "Such an innocent-looking girl like you— I would've never thought you were that type." His fingers drummed on the top of his chair again, his smile encompassing, mixed with sarcastic and wholehearted joking.

"I am a thief in my own right anyhow— call it a sickness! When I see something that I want— I can't help but take it. Be it money, or wine, or..." He was staring at her now, hoping that doing so would help read into her soul. He wasn't sure how much time he had left— before she realized he was a monster and left, forever.

If there was ever a time for that moment, it would be now— it was best to admit he was a monster now rather than later, that the him of right now could switch into the him of last night whenever that lust came upon him, that need and craving for blood... Triggered by smell, looks, or maybe even just a strong memory.

What he really wanted to ask was, 'why are you still here?' But no matter how he sliced it in his head, it would sound too rude— and since when did he give a damn about being rude? As true as that was, if she walked out right now, he couldn't go after her, because she was a 'main character.' She had her own story, she was different from the rest of them. The fox wasn't made to be someone's side prop, he could feel it. She was like him— prominent, important, one of the few colored-in against the world's monochrome backdrop.

"Oh, you can keep that," Fen assured, shooing off the coffee with a dismissal wave. "There's nothing 'funny' in it— you can trust me on that." He tensed, waiting for her to throw it in her face— he could almost see her doing it now, a quick, rebellious toss of the cup, scorching his face, but what was worse was that he wouldn't mind. His main goal was to get her to stay, to see how long she would stay— he had never met... someone who was so different before. It both bothered him and made him want to read her like he did his blood mage spell books, but she was not just a bunch of pages bound together with flimsy coverings, no. It was almost too much for him to swallow— and he enjoyed every second of it.

[Anonymous]

She smiled with herself, somehow taking being called 'fierce' as a compliment. Her eyes watched him, pleased, with one slightly arched brow. No, she most definitely was not 'malleable', though last night might have definitely suggested so, there had been many instances in her life in which she'd put on such a facade of submissiveness. That wasn't who she was though. It never was... who the hell knew who she was? Sure as hell wasn't herself. Though... whoever had dictated those words in her head sure seemed to understand the resonance of truth in her. Her expression fell, just a little at the memory.

Somehow, she was left more uncomfortable and disgusted with herself than this man. With whatever strange things were happening inside her, in her mind, that she didn't understand, than what he'd done that she did.

He seemed thoughtful, as if unsure of her, and she realized that probably wasn't too far from the truth. After last night, she was standing before him, bashing him with a pillow and huffing defiantly at him, but... Wouldn't any one else have screamed? Cried, run and fled in fear and anguish? She felt somehow hopeless. She didn't want to go back. Didn't want to have to make up excuses, or worse, tell the truth about what had happened and why she hadn't returned. At her sides, her fingers curled lightly, nails softly scraping her palms like a nervous tic. She heard him apologize though, and her expression was wholly one of surprise, eyes blinking and lips parted slightly. For a moment, she was blank, unable to process what to think or feel, let alone what to say.

Her expression fell to something of an angry pout though as he continued to speak. She looked down at the coffee in her hands though, holding it up to take in its fragrance before sipping at it softly. A soft 'mm' came from the back of her throat as she held it away, though she was suddenly feeling quite a bit more self-conscious. It didn't happen often, but somehow, in the presence of someone who... well... wasn't quite a customer, made it seem... different. She glanced around a little, spotting the robe nearby, looking at it curiously for a moment before going ahead and carefully pulling it on, shifting the coffee mug from one hand to the other as she did.

"...'that type'..." she repeated the words softly, before turning back to him. So said the thief, the sick man, who took whatever he wanted. "There's nothing innocent about me... Give me a choice and I'd choose your occupation over mine any day." Sighing, she slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, taking another sip of the coffee. She never wanted to be that type. Before she came to this place, she didn't even know what that type was, let alone the dirty work they did. Now it was her life though. Now it was second nature, as her body had proven to her just last night. Just hours ago. Slowly, she looked up at him, trying to comprehend. She was used to dealing with simpletons, greasy men and soldiers and men who stashed away hard-earned money behind their spouses backs.

He was so entirely different though, wasn't he? A man who took what he wanted. As dangerous and frightening as it was, it also felt... safe. As she'd said last night, she'd been here before, in this situation... and somehow, it had been her life. It had been comfortable. Even if she didn't know why she felt this way, she didn't want to leave this odd, warped comfort. Was she suicidal? Or just masochistic? She wanted to figure him out, in a way she'd never felt compelled to figure anyone out before, not even herself. Sure she had dreams and visions of something greater, but for so long she'd just been so complacent, so easy to let everything come as it was and accept it.  Not him though. He'd come violently and tore everything up... figuratively and literally. How could she just go back to the way she was before? She didn't want to go back. She wanted to go very, very far from here.

But beyond all of that, there was only one question she kept coming back to. One thought she couldn't let rest no matter how hard she tried. It felt like a question she didn't want to ask, because she felt like he might not even have the answer... and if she brought attention to it, he might remedy it. But still, it wasn't like she just couldn't ask. And it wasn't like she would roll over and let him kill her, either.

"Well then, thief... just why is it I'm still alive here, in your robe, drinking your coffee?" Leaving her alive was one thing, but all of this... hospitality? She'd love to try to figure him out, but her brain wasn't working right in the first place, trying to figure herself out at the moment, let alone this nut.

[Anonymous]

"There's nothing innocent about me... Give me a choice and I'd choose your occupation over mine any day."

There she went again! Fen found himself looking forward to every time the fox spoke— for the life of him, he couldn't figure her out. Did she take him literally when he had said, 'thief'? "Would you really?" Fen interjected, his eyes bright, bouncing, curious. "You're a medley of surprises, I think— I couldn't take you for a thief! Whether it be of money, or of lives... but it seems I'm horrible at making inferences, when it comes to you; how frustrating..." Despite his claim that this was 'frustrating,' Fen was a toddler in a candy store, he felt he could sit here and talk to her until the sun came up and down and went up again. Everything about her was an enigma— even her acceptance of the coffee, drinking it softly and humming in approval— even that was something he could not comprehend. She seemed truly comfortable here, in his bed, with his robe, drinking his coffee— a picture, almost, of normalcy. Why was this so shockingly easy?

"Well then, thief..."

"Ugh, thief," he groaned, grimacing at how the word tasted as it hung in the air. Fen, the lovely hypocrite that he was, suddenly felt him cringing at such a ... common word. Only seconds ago had he used such a term to describe himself, but suddenly, it did not seem to fit. "I take it back— thief is too common a word for me, I'm afraid. Assassin, that has a nicer ring to it, or—" He paused, mentally compiling a list for all the nicer terms he could be referred to as. Blood mage, the sadomasochist, murderer... Or, perhaps, the best word of them all... "—or... you could call me Fen."

 Normally, he made a big deal about his full name— Fenrisulfr Rotht, but today, it just seemed like too much of a mouthful. Fenrisulfr — that was a name he revealed for show, like a stage name more than his actual birthright. It was the last words his targets would hear: an almost unpronounceable name uttered in the face of an undeniable terror that could not be explained with mere words. The medley of vowels would churn in their heads, panicking them, as they took their last breath. How menacing a name could be! But there was no need for such theatrics today; at least, not the violent sort, anyway.

"...just why is it I'm still alive here, in your robe, drinking your coffee?"

He let a smile pencil itself in on his features, laughing softly— a small, quick hum that started and stopped in his throat. "You don't beat around the bush, do you?" he asked, suddenly studying the hardwood floor, thoughts racing in his head, faster than his own blind euphoria last night. He hadn't expected to have to explain himself— but then again, around her, what was he supposed to expect, anyhow? For that brief moment in time, yet again, Fen found himself loosing that superior edge in his aura.

How was he supposed to explain? That in a world where everyone seemed to only pantomime true emotion, she was one of the few who actually... meant something. That if someone were to remove her from this world, it would be a crime against the stage that was this infinite play called life. He would spend his life, forever thinking to himself: do you remember that girl, that you took home from the bar? That girl with the fox ears who could deny you, who could accept you, who could move with you? Remember how unique she was? And do you remember how you blindly took her life?

She was different, she was different. And Fen could not have this strange fox walk away from him forever. He wasn't sure if he could handle it. He could make her comfortable, he could give up his coffee and clothe her and clean away all the little drops of blood from her person... Just to get a chance to figure her out. Just to see what made her tick. And if he couldn't, then he'd be surprised by her every move: and wasn't that more fun, in the long run?

"But, I could ask you an even better question, in return," Fen pondered, that 'edge' returning, his unwavering gaze locked onto her. "How is it that you're so comfortable here, in my robe, drinking my coffee?" Well, actually, that wasn't his robe... It had been the robe of a girl he had killed a long time ago, and thought the material was rather interesting, so he had washed it and— damnit, that wasn't the point right now, was it? He used this question as bait, fishing for time, and yet again Mr. Metaphor found himself groping for words, slightly annoyed that this fox could manage to have him tongue-tied with such brief questions and actions. But now he was beating around the bush— and the truth spilled out of him, relentless.

"To be honest," the blood mage began, gripping onto the chair's back with his hand, looking up at the ceiling, studying its cracks and grooves. "It's because you can sit there, calmly, in my robe, with my coffee." His gaze returned to her— he was suddenly serious. "Because when I had you by the throat last night, you laughed and thanked me for killing that drunkard at the bar. Because when I had you in my control, you sat up and said, 'No.'" He replayed the scene in his head again— her fox ears flattening, scowling, defiance written with every muscle in her body.

"I could leave this shack right now, kill someone off the street, and I wouldn't regret it. They're all the same. Same perilous screams, same worthless cries... But you." He stopped to breathe, a deep breath after running a marathon..."You're different."

The word 'different' meant so many things. Outcast, reject, unable to mesh with the rest. But the word left Fen's mouth with an air of importance, as if, to be 'different' was synonymous to be 'superior,' as if there wasn't a better thing in this world than being different.

"Does that scare you?" he wondered, purely curious, just realizing that he had admitted to being a monster. It wasn't something he was ashamed of — he was a cold-blooded killer and admitting it to him was just as easy as saying that he had white hair and stood at a height of five feet, eleven inches. Just facts.

[Anonymous]

Her? A thief? Oh no, it wasn't that she particularly desired that miserable little lot in life... It wasn't the act of stealing, trinkets or life's, that she had been referring to. Smiling a little, she took another drink and then shook her head.

"No, not a thief," she replied, "just to be... someone who takes what they desire." Looking up at him, she dared to find his eyes with hers, somehow feeling... on equal terms with him in that moment. It wasn't that she ever thought of herself as lesser than anyone else, but it was easy to bow your head and avoid a strangers eyes in her line of work... Or after a night like the last one. The idea of living like that though, to take what you really wanted, regardless of the outcome... Sure it was dangerous, and ran the high risk of making enemies, but... it was something someone like her longed for.

'Fen'. She ran the name around several times in her head, imagined what it sounded like coming off of her tongue. It sounded... normal. Strangely warm and inviting, as a sharp contrast to what she already knew of this man. Was it short for something, she wondered? Was it his real name or something he gave himself after he took on... well, whatever path of work it was he was on. Assassin. She had to smile a little at that. It was only a perversely suiting occupation.

And then she wondered if she should give him her name... Did she even want to? So he could come to her workplace and look her up. Maybe pay next time? The very ideas were revolting in her mind. He seemed so... free, it was exhilarating, infecting her with some strange madness she couldn't, and didn't want, to shake.. Going back, willingly, to that place felt like... turning herself in to the noose for a crime she had no part in, didn't even know about.

He seemed so amused by her, and she was swept away by the feeling they were both so deeply locked in trying to figure each other out. Eden couldn't help but wonder if she was really all that interesting a person. Sure, the fox ears and tail brought her a lot of attention and curiosity, but what about her was so perplexing that a man who lived his life killing others and taking whatever he wanted regardless of the outcome would decide to keep her alive just to... what? Learn more about her? That seemed so idealistic, so fabricated. Things like that didn't happen. She was supposed to be dead or dying thinking 'I never thought it'd happen to me,'... not sipping her rapists coffee chit-chatting thinking the very same. For obscenely different reasons.

Fen looked to be considering her question, and she looked down at the half-empty coffee cup, taking another sip. His question in response to her own, though, caught her aback, and she looked up at him from over the glass, unsure of how to answer that. She moved it down to her lap again, eyes on the floor as she tried to wrap her own mind around it. She didn't know, why it was she could sit here like this. She remembered those haunting words, telling her she 'liked it', but she didn't think it was quite that... There had never been a piece of her that had looked forward to the prospect of dying, but... perhaps it was the change... or maybe...

Before she had come up with her answer though, he was speaking again, answering her, elaborating. Somehow she felt like she was... receiving a compliment, and it somehow both humbled and emboldened her. Even though he talked so easily about going out and killing people, she knew there were tons of people like that who existed in this world. Even though she didn't doubt he would, indeed, up, leave, and destroy a person's very life the same way she so easily turned tricks, she could only bask in the way he spoke that single word. She was different. How, she didn't know, but he made it sound perfect. Enrapturing.

When he asked if it scared her, she was a little unsure of what he meant for a moment, still lost on that word and the way he'd said it. After a brief pause of thought she realized what he must have been talking about, and shook her head before the words had fully materialized in her mind.

"I feel like I've gotten over the worst of fear," she admitted. "For now, I feel like I'm in a... soothing dream after a long nightmare... one that started well before last night." It was difficult to explain just what she meant, and she was sure it wouldn't be easy for him to fully understand it all just now, but she didn't know what else to say of it. "Nothing felt real, until last night," the softest tone of darkness crept into her voice as she looked back up at him, ears giving a faint twitch, tail softly ticking behind her. "For the first time I feel awake. Alive," she giggled this last word, the irony of it, the undeniable truth of it.

"I couldn't tell you why I can sit here so easily... It's not as though it makes sense to me, either. But as long as I feel this way... I don't see a reason to question it. Maybe thats foolish of me, though." Shrugging, she tilted her head to the side a little. Why did she feel so strongly like she wanted... to thank him? For shattering that cage-like dream she'd called 'reality' for so long. The problem was, she was at a loss for what to do next, other than sit here and sip at the coffee with Fen, the assassin, her assailant, her savior. A pleasant smile curled on her lips though. It made her head reel and her stomach turn, but she couldn't shake the overall enjoyable mood she was suddenly finding herself in. It felt good to have someone so intrigued by her, to be so intrigued with someone. This wasn't something she'd ever experienced before... even if the circumstances were baffling and disgusting to anyone who could have looked in on it, even she could see that, she was... teetering on some sort of infatuation. Slowly, but surely, her mind which was still groggy from this 'awakening' was becoming aware of that much.

"I suppose I should thank you again, Fen." Yes, she wanted the first words she uttered his name with to be those ones. Confusing and strange and yet perfect. She was awakened to something else now. Even if she didn't know all of what, even if she didn't know the next step, she felt like she could start from here. Like she'd just begun. "And... my name is Eden."