CW: Graphic violence - all up in this thread.
"He was just
staring at you? That's creepy, Ana."
"No, no – it wasn't like that at all! Everyone was having a good time at the festival, and through the crowd we just made eye contact and.. yeah, maybe he was staring at me, but he smiled at me, and it was really sweet."
Ana Whitman was a young woman from Uthlyn, born and raised, with all of the right curves, a pretty smile, and a knack for attracting all the boys her age, and some not her age, to her side of the fence. She loved the arts, so she loved Uthlyn. She loved watching musicians perform – either in taverns or on the streets. Again, she really loved her home in Uthlyn.
The Festival of Arts was yesterday, and she had a great time. She had many friends, but none of them were able to spare the time to go to the Festival, so she went alone. She really didn't mind going alone, just as long as she was able to get out of her house and experience something exciting.
She wasn't sure why her friend Rosa was so obsessed with the idea that this one particular guy was staring at her. Lots of men stared. This one just happened to be cute, and she may or may not have stared back. If only for a little while.
Rosa was Ana's long-life friend and was always looking out for Ana. She really didn't have a problem with this one guy staring at her, she just had a problem that Ana seemed to like it so much. So many years of friendship had gone by and Ana never once realized the feelings that Rosa had for her. She couldn't help it. She was kind, she was
beautiful beyond belief, and she's everything a girl could ever want in a partner; but alas, Ana liked men, and Rosa loved Ana.
"If you say so," Rosa said, not even trying to hide her distaste. "You need to be careful going out alone, Ana. All sorts of crazy people running about. Those festivals always bring OUT so many magic-users too, and they don't bring anything but trouble!"
Ana didn't answer. She usually just kept quiet when she didn't have an answer or would laugh something off and change the subject.
"Did you talk to this mystery guy?" Rosa asked after a few moments of silence passed between them.
Ana shook her head. "No," she replied honestly. "I might have, but he was too far away."
It had been a few days since the festival, and Ana couldn't get that boy's face out of her mind. He was
cute. He was.. Oh, she was being silly. There was just something about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on, and she wanted desperately to figure that out.
She had met Rosa at the tavern closest to their homes. It was easy enough for them to do this on a regular basis since they both lived in the same general neighborhood. They usually walked together, but Rosa wasn't quite ready to leave yet, and Ana, still tired from the festival, just wanted to get some sleep. Night came quicker than she had expected, and it was darker than usual out, the skies filled with dark clouds hiding the stars above their heads. As she walked down the cobble-stoned path, she couldn't help but feel like someone was following her.
She peered over her shoulder when she heard a quick sound behind her, but wasn't able to see anything. Shrugging it off and chalking it up to her imagination, she continued down the path. Another noise, and she spun on her heel. "Is someone there?" she asked, now cautious.
Back at the tavern, Rosa was all but pitiful as she sipped her whisky at the bar. Some men tried to initiate conversation, but she promptly turned them down. She was polite about it, at least. Just because she didn't prefer the company of men, didn't mean she needed to be an asshole to them.
Rosa was a pretty girl. Not as pretty as Ana, not as curvy as Ana, and not as inviting as Ana, but pretty nonetheless. She had her share of suitors, like most young, single women did in this area. Too bad. She would have made a hell of a housewife, she thought.
"Excuse me," a man interrupted her drinking time, standing next to her as his hand was placed firmly on the edge of the bar.
She looked at the man, smiled polity, and began to decline. "Hi, I'm sorry. I'm not really looking for company tonight."
The man shook his head quickly. "No, no, that's not what I want at all," he said. "Do you know Ana Whitman?"
This peaked her interest. "She's my best friend," Rosa replied.
Gods. How ridiculous would it be if this guy was actually trying to ask Ana out through her. Bad news for you guy, but that's not going to happen.
"I saw her in the alley earlier. She seemed paranoid, mentioned something about someone following her, and then she ran off. Is everything okay with her?"
That got her attention. "Just outside?" she asked, standing from her chair almost immediately. "Can you show me?"
There was something so sweet about the smell of iron, sweat, and fire. There was no smoke evident in his little cellar to show signs of a fire, but the distinct odor of burning flesh was not easy to get rid of. He could, however, keep it contained.
He sharpened his favorite knife on another knife, the
clings and
clangs tinging his skin as two sharps pointed weapons met each other. He whistled some. It was a good day, so he whistled some more.
Her uncontrollable sobs echoed off the iron bars and the thick solid walls.
On the other side of the room, Rosa Lavenue hung upside down, strapped to a cold table standing vertically. Her endless cries and pleas were both deliciously delightful and infuriatingly distracting. At one moment, he loved it, and another, he absolutely loathed it.
"W-Why a-a-are you d-doing this?!" Her words were barely understandable through the intense sobs that she so selfishly couldn't control.
Growing impatient, Arthur stomped over to her side of the room, got to her eye leveled, and screamed. "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!" After that, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently against the table. "I'm
trying to concentrate!"
Some people are so rude.
He picked up the pace a bit. He wasn't one for toying with his victims, he just needed to be adequately prepared. It was hard to do that when they didn't shut the hells up.
The blade was sharp enough.
Muttering a spell under his breath, a ball of fire levitated from his right hand. "Okay, my dear," he said as he went back over the hanging woman. "Open up."
She didn't oblige. They never did. Instead, he had to force her mouth open with his other hand just long enough to cover it with his other hand, a stream of flames shooting down her throat, causing her to jerk madly within the straps that bound her to the table.
He watched the life fade from her eyes and smiled.
Next step – the message.
Taking the sharpened knife, he began sawing away at the woman's neck – the inside tender enough from the burns that he cut right through. Now a headless corpse, he untied the binds and let the body drop to the floor.
He pulled out a tiny pocketbook, wrote the letter "A" on a single piece of parchment, and ripped it out.
In a few short hours the local authorities would find this girl, and this letter.
@SanctifiedSavage
