Halloween Character Styling, Writing Challenge!

[Daemon]

ON THE FOURTH DAY OF HALLOWEEN...


Open by the candlelight
A book of olden tales
Of dark and sly, strong or shy
Vampires, demons, ghosts and ghouls
Plain old humans, devilish fools.
Hunting spirit, shining angel, clever elf
Hear the distant cry of a wolf
Gnomes and goblins, faeries and dwarves
Frightening, enlightening;
Hope they don’t scare you…
~ Daemon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Welcome to the fourth day of 13 days before Halloween!
Let’s really get into the Halloween spirit with a writing challenge!

This challenge is to take a character – pick a character, any character 8D – and while implementing your character, make them and your writing piece particularly Halloween-ish. Dress them up, stick them in a scary situation, whatever you like – the aim is to personify the essence of Halloween in your character and their exploits.

• You may use a pre-existing character of your own – they don’t have to be particularly Halloween-suited to begin with – or simply create a new character for this challenge, but please mention whether the character is pre-existing or new. Put a reference if you like, i.e. a picture or a link to a biography which is already around and about!
  
• Preferable for original characters to be used – no canon or fandom characters, please.
• Minimum word count – 500 words
• Be as creative as you like! Depict a human character’s sudden transformation into a werewolf; dress up your normally innocent angel and have them raid children for candy; and so on and so forth, just for some examples! ^^ It can be serious, humorous, morbid, etcetera.
• Beware that Halloween-related writings may possibly lean towards mature themes. Do the genre justice, but don’t overdo it! ^^;
• Judging will be based on creativity, style, spelling & grammar, and so on.
• This contest will close on Thursday, November 5, 2009.

An example piece, of my own ~



“I promise I’m good! I promise!” That last word was gargled out into a desperate scream as she lacked the breath to draw. Too afraid to fly lest she display more of her supernaturalism, her soft bare feet crunched into leaves and dirt as she ran. Dark, raucous shadows swooped about her – crows – blending in with the deepening twilight. Nice friends, good friends.

Long curves of tawny-gold hair flicked into her stormy blue eyes. She had existed for centuries, but had not a whit of wisdom and common sense to go with it. Guileless and innocent, the angel had yet a few more decades to flit amongst mortals to understand all the conflicts upon this Earth.

Silly, silly humans. Could they not tell the difference between the good spirits and the bad? While they chased after her with flaming torches, her demon cousins stole through populated areas unnoticed, playing wicked games, stealing things and making noises in the night!

The angel flung herself behind a tree, folding her wings tightly to her body and trembling, not with exhaustion, but with extra drive. Apparently, angels didn’t lack survival instincts despite the very few possible situations in which they would be endangered.

A crow perched on her shoulder, gripping onto her bared, pale flesh. She listened intently for a noise in the woods. Aside from a brisk breeze there was nothing. Until –

‘Caw ~’

“Shush, silly bird!” Giving herself a shake, she dispelled herself of the crow. An affinity with the malevolent birds was probably what had set the villagers onto her in the first place. They shouted she was a demon in disguise.

The chase concluded soon afterwards, as the handful of crows around her gave away her position. Gruff countrymen tied her hands with rope and talked to each other in low monotones, while the angel heard every one of their thoughts. Their eyes carefully avoided her - as if setting their eyes upon her would allow her to possess them.

That same evening the angel, offering zero resistance to the silly humans, allowed herself to be undressed and bound to a stake; at its base were dried, crackling organic materials – all good for feeding a fire. A single crow rested on the very top of the stake, keeping her company until it grew bored and flitted away.

Lit with haste, as the villagers gathered around it, the bonfire had a life of its own, a malignant and dark aura which rippled through the bright red-and-orange tongues of flame. Heavens above, but it looked more evil than she ever would!

Hungry, licking flames licked further up her ethereal shift, which curled and blackened as the inferno slowly and almost mockingly consumed her. The conflagration did not touch her porcelain perfect, immortal skin; it could only angrily scorch at the more corporeal parts of her – namely her hair and wings. It started at the down beneath her wings, catching alight to surge through every feather and joint.

Chrysanthe shouted; the implications of being burned as such being unbeknownst to her. Despite her very sureness about her own immortality, she was quaking with fright– as a child would if they were struggling, tied up high on a stake (minus the part about being burned).

Alas, there was no pain, but she felt it at the very edge of her senses, threatening to break through the transparent veil which separated her from mortality. Angels did not need to feel pain – it was a mortal function designed to warn them of danger to their physical body.

Her wings were glowing, flaming, alight – unbound, she spread them in indignation, flapping and spreading sparks and embers back into the bonfire. The fire crawled upwards; starting at the tips of her tawny hair and creeping up until a halo of fiery light consumed her head – and, indeed, her entire body. The bonds tying her body to the stake, and the stake itself, crumbled into ash, and she fell right into the flames. The superstitious onlookers cheered and hooted. She felt the heat, pressurized and mighty, crackling about her. A terrified cry burst from her lips – was she going to stay alight forever? What would the villagers do once she arose from the cinders, unharmed?

Catch-22, all over again. Burn the evil creature. If it is an innocent mortal, it dies; if it is guilty of immortality it will get up and skip away, unharmed.

Curled up, petrified, the angel waited for the fire to burn itself out around her. Night passed, and the sun rose again, and eventually she shifted from her dormant state. Brushing herself down, rustling her blackened feathers, ash drifted off of her as she wandered the sleep town and stole a new dress from a washerwoman’s line.

The crows did not return to her; alas, they had been her only company for many a lonely week. Chrysanthe crossed the countryside for over a month, searching for a new purpose now that those flames – intended to kill unholy spirits – had cleansed her further.

The only remaining vestige of her burning was that her hair and eyelashes were raven black; her wings, too, once wheat gold, were a deep, glossy sable.

One snowy winter’s morning, the angel arose to find several crows flitting about her, cawing merrily.

“Look, darlings!” she cried, raising a hand to allow one to settle onto her. “Now we match!”

[Fish.]

-is slowly trying to edit on here, as her USBs are corrupted-

The screams of the children rent the still night air, gurgling laughter and the tiny, pattering sounds of soft feet echoing down the dimly lit streets. Through the dark, golden glow of the pumpkin's eyes, she watched them flit from house to house like innocent sprites, skipping away with candies and sugared, toffee apples. The lady knew most of them by name now,

[Myrph]

New Character ~ As yet unnamed...

It had been nearly a month since it had happened. It had been his day off and as such instead of heading into the office, he chose to head out into the country side, out onto the fens that stretched out from behind his home. He’d always planned on exploring them, even as a child when youthful fantasies of adventure filled his head, little had he known that such fantasies were realer, yet much darker than he could ever have imagined...
For some foolish reason, he’d ventured out without any preparation. No map, no compass, no mobile phone signal. For all intents and purposes he’d severed himself from the civilised world, and at the time it felt like the most liberating thing he had done in years.
Until, that was, he tripped, stumbled, collapsed onto his knees and rolled down into a steep valley. Thickets of bramble ripped at his clothes and flesh. Weeds and seeds tangled themselves in his hair and in the thread of his garments. Bloody, bruised and more than a little disorientated, he lay. A small trickle of water, flowing from a nearby stream gradually soaked into his clothes, draining his warmth and his will to continue.
Sunlight was rapidly fading, and he knew that if he didn’t move soon, he likely wouldn’t move again, so picking up his sorry self, he began the painful limp towards what he hoped would be civilization and the promise of home. Before long, the light of our closest star had been replaced the light of a million others, the full moon shining brightest of all. A guttural roar, followed by a high pitched howl pierced the air. He was not alone.
Adrenaline flooded his system, his slow limp, soon becoming a quick jog and then a fast paced run. But he knew it was hopeless. The scent of his blood was already heavy in the air, and whatever else was out there had already latched onto him. No matter how fast his legs could carry him, its legs could carry it faster. Pain was building in his legs, and he was forced to slow down, and in that moment it hit him.
Great sharp claws dug into his back and sides, the force of muscles a thousandfold his own strength knocking him from his feet. Excruciating pain coursed through his being, just as adrenaline had but moments before. Twisting as he fell, he caught a brief glance of his attacker, just as consciousness escaped him and his vision faded to black...
It had been nearly a month since it had happened and the light of the full moon bathed the great fenlands with its eerie light. A guttural roar and a high pitched howl pierced the air. He was not alone, and he could sense their scent on the cold night air. One stumbled, fell, grazing themselves on the bramble thicket below, slowing the group and giving him the opportunity he needed. Throbbing muscles uncoiled with superhuman strength, propelling him onto his victim, his long sharp claws digging into the soft, warm flesh. Excruciating pain flooded her system and she felt her consciousness fading. Twisting in agony, she caught a brief glance of her attacked, just as her breath escaped her and her vision faded to black...

[Yue Yin]

Yes, mine are pre-existing XD



The elven mage lay at the centre of his study on his hands and knees, his whole body trembling with the effort of simply staying that way and not keeling over. It was a circular room, cluttered with the things typical of both a scholar and a mage: books, scrolls, strange magical items, potion ingredients… It was endless. Not that much of it could be seen, of course, for the whole room was filled with a thick smoke, a smoke that made Emlyn’s eyes water and his lungs cry out in protest. And it wasn’t just ordinary smoke – there was a certain, sharp odour to it. The smell of burning sulphur.

Before the mage, a wooden pedestal was placed, and lying atop of it was a book, a thick volume of pages yellowed, soft and fraying from old age. It lay open at two pages, two pages that were scrawled all over in an ancient language, one of near incomprehensible power.

“Eh? Ahhhh…” A giggle. “Look, Luce, look! We’ve only just been summoned and already he’s on his knees!”

“You’re right! Hah, if this is all it takes, this one can’t be much of a mage, can he? How pitiful…”

“But he certainly is handsome, though.”

More giggles.

With a great effort, Emlyn lifted his head to look up at the two figures that stood on either side of the pedestal, raising a hand to flick his long brown hair out of his face, but then giving up and letting it drop back to the floor with a thud. Too tired. Too exhausted. Too… drained. He should’ve tied it all back before the ritual, not just in some half-ponytail… but it was too late now. His eyes (an unusually bright blue for an elf) narrowed, squinting at the pair, trying to make them out through the thick smoke and the wavering line of his own vision. No… He still couldn’t see them. The smoke was too damned thick, and Emlyn’s very vision was swimming before him.

At last, finally… He’d completed the ritual; he’d summoned the twin demons Lucifer and Asmodai. Their power was his to command. But the ritual had been so strong, so potent with the sheer force of it all… It had completely drained him of nearly all his energy, something that he hadn’t counted on at all; he could barely keep his own eyes open.

The two figures leaned forward, studying Emlyn, for apparently, they had no trouble discerning him through the smoke. Languidly, one of them extended a hand, the slender claw-tipped fingers sliding around Emlyn’s chin, lifting his head up further.

“So… You’re the one who summoned us, correct?” the demon asked; you could hear the grin in his voice.

After struggling to form the word – for it felt as if his vocal chords had become filled up with cloying mud and cement – Emlyn managed to reply, “Y-yes…”

“Well, then, I’m Lucifer, the eldest brother,” the demon responded cheerily, before gesturing at the other demon, “and that’s Asmodai. Now, my little spell caster…”

A pause, as if Lucifer was pondering over how to voice a delicate subject. Finally, “We don’t serve just anybody, you understand – even if they summoned us. No, we’re only interested in powerful masters, masters worthy of our respect. So, whenever we’re summoned, we give our summoners a test.”

At that moment, alarm bells started ringing in Emlyn’s head, but as if that was also thick and filled with fog, he barely heard them. “… Test…?”

Lucifer nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, a test! A special test, just for summoners like you.”

“What… test…? What… what are you…?”

There was a sudden flash of movement that Emlyn’s eye couldn’t follow, and before he knew it, a hand had grabbed him by the throat and hoisted him into the air with a formidable strength. Blue eyes widening, Emlyn let out a feeble, choked cry and he began to raise a hand to the one at his throat, weakly trying to prise the fingers away. The action only caused the demon to laugh even further, a harsh, mocking laugh that jarred Emlyn’s senses. The fingers around his throat tightened like a vice grip, and Emlyn gasped again. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe… Desperately, Emlyn tried to breathe as the sheer danger of his situation finally dawned on him, and his breath, constricted by the demon’s grasp, was limited to small, hitching wheezes as the elf slowly started to turn blue in the face.

Another one of those jarring, mocking laughs.

“Weak, weak, weak!” the demon taunted, giving Emlyn a slight shake. To the demon, it was a slight thing, a small action, but to Emlyn who had to bear the brunt of the shake, it felt as if his very bones and eyeballs were being rattled around violently in his body. “The test has barely begun, and already, you feebly flail and twitch like a dying fish!”

“This one’s going to be an easy one, isn’t he, Luce?”

“Hell yes, Asmo, he is. How boring… but never mind, Asmo. He’s not completely hopeless. After all, he is, as you so proclaimed earlier…” There was a snicker, and though it was soft, there was a distinct edge of menace to the sound, an edge that made Emlyn fall still.

“… a handsome one,” both twin demons chorused in unison, before bursting into peals of soft, sinister giggles. It was the only sound that filled Emlyn’s ears, his brain.

“He’ll look good on us, won’t he? Besides…”

“… We’ve never tasted elven flesh before.”

By the gods… What were they going to do? What were they going to do?!

As if they’d read his mind, the twins giggled again, and as they closed in on Emlyn, they whispered, “Don’t worry… we’ll make good use of you.”

*****

An hour later, the two twins sat on the floor of Emlyn’s study, their expressions serene and satisfied and their bellies deliciously full.

“Ah… Well, he might’ve been a weak sod, but he certainly was a tasty one,” Lucifer remarked to his younger brother, before snickering maliciously.

In response, Asmodai’s tongue flicked out from between his lips, licking slowly at the blood still smeared and dripping around his mouth and chin. “Agreed.”

With a contented sigh, with a grunt, Lucifer heaved himself to his feet, and extending a hand to his brother, pulled Asmodai to his. “Let’s be off then! No reason for us to stay in this crappy old dump anymore.”

Asmodai nodded his head eagerly, and then blinked, as if remembering something. Grinning wickedly at Lucifer, Asmodai said, “Ah, but first things first, Luce… let’s show off our new forms to the others.”

“Ah, that’s right, that’s right! Heheheh… What would I do without you, Asmo? Silly of me to forget…”

Giggling amongst themselves, the twins faced each other, concentrating. Their old forms slowly began to change, melting away, fading and distorting, like the surface of a rippling pool. After a minute or so, the transformation was complete, and opening their eyes, the twins stared back at each other, their expressions bright and curious. Stepping towards each other, each twin ran their hands over the new face and the hair of the others, touching, feeling, examining.

Both twins looked exactly like Emlyn had, before they had, well…

Their faces splitting into ecstatic, fiendish grins, the twins both let out a loud, delighted cackle, and declared, “It was well worth eating him wasn’t it? His handsome face looks good on us!”

[LadyCrazy]

I suppose these count as preexisting characters. >> They're not mine, though. xD
Why yes, children, I'm writing for Akane and Azami Kiryu from Fatal Frame 2. ;D

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
The two words were whispered over and over again by the kneeling child, her small form huddled nearby a motionless replica of...seemingly herself. She and her sister were identical in nearly every way; from their appearance to mannerisms. Akane and Azami had always been together during their earlier years and had often sworn to remain together, no matter what.
But now Azami was gone...and she was never coming back.

A shudder ran through the girl's body and she shook her head, causing her long black hair to violently jerk from side to side. Her murmured apologies gained more fervor as she clung to the fabric of the doll's kimono; a life-size doll that looked as Azami had in life. The room fell silent after a while, though Akane continued to cling to the doll's kimono, as though that alone could bring her twin back to her. She lifted her head, a ghost of a smile on her face.
"Let's stay together from now on, okay?" The hesitant question was asked in a broken voice, and it prompted Akane to cling all the tighter to the doll.

As if in response to the girl's question, the doll's hand twitched.


~~


Akane never parted from the doll's side. Wherever she went, the doll would have to go as well. In her mind, her sister had been reborn...even though Akane didn't deserve to see Azami ever again. She was the one who...but...
They had told her that it had to be done, for the sake of the village. Azami would become a butterfly and she would protect the village.
Always, always, ALWAYS for the village, no one cared what she felt! No one cared that Azami had died. They all deserved to...to...

Akane shook her head, lifting her hands up to press them against her forehead. The doll beside her creaked as its head lifted and tilted to a side, its glass eyes fixed on its human double.

Kill them.

Akane's eyes snapped shut and she continued to shake her head from side to side. "I d-don't want to...I don't want to kill anyone anymore. I never wanted to kill..." Her voice cracked as she spoke, her words almost going unheard as the doll continued to creak.

They want us to be alone...they'll ALWAYS want us to be alone. We can't let that happen. You have to kill them.

The doll twitched, her body swiveling until she was facing the room that Akane's father spent most of his time. A scowl seemed to tug at the corners of the doll's porcelain lips.

He wants to kill me. You'll be alone if he kills me. The only way to stop him is to kill him.

Panic spread through the girl at what the doll "said", turning a wide-eyed gaze onto her double. "B-but...he made you so I wouldn't be alone...why would he take you away? WHY?"

He WANTS you to be alone. He wants you to suffer, for *us* to suffer. Kill him, Akane.

Akane continued to stare at the doll for a while longer, her face slowly contorting into a scowl. "He won't kill you. I won't let him." Unlike her previously timid statements, her words were hissed this time, murderous intent dripping from every word. She pushed herself to her feet and began to cross to her father's workshop, opening the door to the room and easily slipping inside. The door was shut behind her as the doll continued to stare.

Silence reigned throughout the household, a silence that was soon broken by screams.
The doll's head further lolled to a side, the faintest of smirks touching her porcelain lips. A soft, unearthly giggle rose from the doll's form.


~~


wHy KIlL? wHY? yOu DIdN'T hAvE tO...

We did what we needed to do. No one will ever keeps us apart ever again.

nO!! nO, i Didn'T wANt tHiS. i JUsT waNTeD aKAne tO bE HAppy.

If that's so...why did you die? Why did you let her kill you? We'll always be together now...always.

i...i wANTeD tO prOTecT eVEryONe...tHE rEPenTAnCe wOUlD haVE hAPPenED iF i diDN't dIe.

The Repentance happened, regardless of your sacrifice. And so...let's stay together from now on, okay?

Two small girls stood, hand in hand, neither one of them moving throughout the earlier exchange. Darkness engulfed their pale forms, though they didn't seem to notice nor care about the pitch black that surrounded them. Their forms blurred and then slowly vanished into the darkness.

We'll always be together.

[TheElevatedEl]

I don;t know if this is necessarily Halloween-y enough but it's def gory... >>

This is kind of an origin story for a character I created a while back.

Due to the fact that Lilain curses like a sailor, gore and some sexuality, El is rating this a big ol' red


MATURE



She was far too eager to kiss. He’d seen her type before. Bloody, fucking slut. The whore. There was really only one way to deal with women like this. He dealt with women like this often. Once a week for the past month, actually. All the fucking whores were terrified. But this one? This bold bitch had sauntered right up to him with her low cut gown and flounces and ruffles and shoved her pretty little bust in his face and hit him with the bustle of her gown; her hands were constantly to her chest, and neck and bodice trying to draw his attention to her oh so desirable shape. She was easily the prettiest whore. She had white blonde curls that fell around her face just so- a delicate pixie-like face. Pink cheeks. A little upturned nose. Pink heart shaped lips. An overwhelming presence of vulnerability. If ever he had to envision an angle, this woman would be it. She was everything he had ever hoped a woman could look like but had never actually seen. It almost felt like someone who had never really seen a woman had painted a picture of what they thought one should look like and this delicate beauty was the result. Oh so delicate. God, she would be so easy to break. He could hear her now. Screaming. In his head. And it wasn’t the sorts of screams she probably planned on. That she actually thought he could ever truly touch someone like her! Someone so dirty and vile…. Goddess. He could hear her now. See it now. And this one would truly deserve it.

She was speaking. Chattering in some deep seductive voice. Drawing him up and outside the tavern into the cool snow. Pressing him to the wood and planting her filthy little lips on his. And drawing him away still farther until the shadow of the tavern hid them from view. She fluttered her lashes and very carefully he did not look at her eyes. That was the only thing this painter had gotten wrong- and that was partially why he was convinced this woman above the others deserved what he was about to do to her. Her eyes were black. The pupils were almost indiscernible from the irises and they were deep, fathomless. Like gazing into a pit of hell and knowing, knowing that the place was so wretched and evil, the bottom could never be reached. He would toss her into it now. He would.

Her lily white hands pressed him to the building. He let his own travel along her back and bodice, let her kiss him. One hand fell away. He swapped positions, pressed her to the building instead. What was her name?

“Surly you have somewhere more… appropriate to..” she giggled in her husky voice- so small, her voice seemed deep for her size. “To conduct our business.” She pouted. “I’m cold.” She did not shiver. She did not have goose bumps.

“That won’t be necessary.” He breathed right back.

A jerk. A thrust. A tiny gasp of air.

And he met her fathomless eyes and grinned. “Dirty little whore.” He breathed happily into her ear as he gave the knife a wretched twist. “Disgusting tramp. You deserve this, you know. You deserve this and so much more than I can give... you…” He waited for her warm blood to spill onto his hands, waited for her to scream, or gasp, or cry, or beg. But her face was blank. He looked down.

There was no blood.

Lilain. That’s what her name had been.

He jerked his head back up.

She was smiling. The… the thrice cursed bitch was grinning!

Fear welled inside of him- deep, unspeakable fear.

More quickly than he could have imagined possible and with far more strength than any woman- hell than any man!-should have, she yanked the blade from her stomach and thrust it into his thigh. Before he could scream, he felt something cold and thick fill his mouth at the same time that it wrapped around his body. He tried to scream past the gag but all that came was a muffled sob. The pain from his thigh surged upward into his stomach; his vision swam; he was going to vomit.

“Oh, God. I love men sometimes.” Her voice was a delightful little cackle. “It’s always the idiots like you- self righteous little pricks that you are- who go on these sorts of killing sprees. How many-“ Her next two words were mocking. “-helpless women did you kill before you found me?” He sobbed past the gag and sank to his knees into the snow. His eyes caught sight of her arm. It… wasn’t there. Where her delicate, lily white hands had been a silvery liquid now flowed in wires and strands that bound him and gagged him. He screamed.

Lilain laughed.

“You liked it when they screamed, didn’t you?” She asked him. “You liked hearing them break. And sob and beg. You fucking loved it didn’t you?” She bent forward and her voice floated across his ears and she said the most terrifying words he had ever heard. “So do I.”

“What’s that?” She said over his muffled moans. “What are you trying to say?” The silvery substance flowed away from his mouth and of all the things clamoring to burst from his mind, the one that managed to come out first was, “Demon! Witch of Hell! What are you?” His voice was jumping between octaves, cracking, and he suddenly hunched over and vomited into the snow. She giggled and gagged him again. The knife still stuck from his thigh, dripping blood onto the snow. She didn’t seem to notice.

“You want the whole story, or the condensed version?” She glanced down at his leg, which was obviously causing him great pain, then back to his face and smirked. “Whole story then.

“Well. Once upon a time there was a mage. He was a man, as most idiots are, and he was a human, which means it’s a wonder he had enough of a brain to do more than sit around and drool, and this man decided he wanted a few things all rolled into one. He wanted a lover. And he wanted a body guard. He was a crafty little mage. He knew all sorts of hell secrets.” His leg “How to summon demons, how to … build things…. In fact, he was a wonderful little sculptor. So he took some clay and some spelled silver and he mixed them all together and he molded a woman. And she was beautiful. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And he summoned forces from hell. Forces he should have never fucked with. And he put them inside his little sculpture. And for a while, he had his lover and his body guard. He called her a pseudomorph.” Oh God. OhGodohGodohGod “But after a while, he got old and his little lover stayed oh so young. In fact, it seemed she only aged a few months for every few decades he aged. And because- like I said- he was a man and an idiot, and human so therefore pretty much retarded- he decided he wanted her to be happy. So he built her a new lover to take over for him when he died. He sculpted her a man from silver and stone and he reached way down into the pit of hell and plucked out some more shit and stuck it in his little invention and now he had two body guards and he thought he was one clever son of a bitch.”

“But.” She reached down and gave the knife a sharp twist. Her grinned widened as she felt it grate against bone. He screamed around the gag and began to sob. “You. Don’t. Fuck. With the forces of hell.” She grinned wickedly. “Show of hands. How many think she was just biding her time?” Lilain whipped the knife away. He screamed again; there was a flash of silver and he didn’t hear the next few words because he was too focused on the unbelievable fact that he was staring at his own hand lying in the snow. “That’s one for yes.”

“Would you like to know what she did to him, after he made her exactly what she’d always wanted? After she realized she didn’t have to listen to him anymore? After she realized he had absolutely no idea what kind of essence he’d stuck inside her and her man?” He was shaking his head, sobbing, screaming, and staring at his hand in turns. He was light headed from the blood loss. She chuckled coldly. “Killed him is a bit obvious, but would you like to hear how? I mean… I’ll be showing you anyway, but it’s so much fun to tell it first. You see… this mage was a kinky son of a bitch. And his little lover…. Well she didn’t bend in normal human places. She was made of clay and silver and she could form her body into anything she wanted. So. She took her hand.” Lilian held up the other hand. The fingers turned silver grey, grew, stretched, thinned… “And she filled his mouth and his nose while he slept. And when he woke up and realized he was suffocating she looked at him and she said ‘Lets see if there’s a brain in there after all.’ Turns out there was. Turns out brains don’t do so hot when you stick silver needles in them. Turns out, if the brains still working when this happens… apparently it hurts like hell. Not that I would know. But you know what I do know? There is absolutely nothing more satisfying than running your fingers through someone’s head.” She gazed around dreamily. “But where was I? Oh yes. His invincible body guard- and she was invincible, by the way- she took her male and they left. And they had some babies after a couple hundred years. Which was surprising, but magic can spawn some fucked up things when you retarded humans get your hands on it. And here we are a few thousand year later. And you get me.” She leaned forward and grinned, showing fangs he hadn’t noticed before. He wanted to look away. He wanted to die. He wanted it to stop now before she did what she had said she was going to do.

He looked into her eyes and saw hell. Literal hell. And it was not fire and brimstone. It was cold, ruthless sadistic ice. It existed to cause hurt. It existed for what it was doing right now. Watching someone scream. “I love telling people about myself.” She giggled. “I don’t bleed. I don’t… feel pain. I can make my fingers as soft as liquid, then harder than diamond in an instant.” She grinned. “You had a worst nightmare before you met me didn’t you?... I’m sorry. I can’t hear you.” She un-gagged him and his sobs filled the air. “I asked you a question…” The knife flashed again and dug into his shoulder, where it stayed, quivering.

“Yes! God, yes, God… make it… please stop! I’ll be good. I’ll be… don’t hurt me…I’ll never hurt another woman again… please don’t hurt me don’t kill me I don’t wanna die let me go oh God Goddess my hand someone help me.” She ignored him.

“Of course you did. But I bet you have a new night mare now, don’t you? Because before you couldn’t come up with something as fucked up as me.” She grinned. “Even someone as twisted as you couldn’t up with something this scary. And damn good looking if I do say so myself.” She had casually gagged him again. Every time he thought about the fact that she was gagging him with her flesh, he screamed. She tasted of dirt and metal and blood.

“Well. That’s my story. You should feel special. Not everyone gets to hear it. We psuedomorphs, we don’t ever really tell people where we come from.” She grinned. “I bet you’d never even heard of us. Or maybe you had, but it was in legend form. You idiots and your legends.” She chuckled indulgently.

“Well. You know this was fun! I’m glad we had this little chat.” He felt the gag pulling away. Oh God. Was she going to let him go?

Almost as soon as the thought was fully formed, she moved again. She had released him, but suddenly her hands where over his ears. He felt her fill them, muffling his hearing. He began to scream.

“Oh. I think I left out the part where her lover split open the mage’s head from his ears while she shoved her fingers up his nose. Oh well. Still makes for a damn good story, even without that bit.”

Lilain had no idea what it felt like to have a clay like substance force its way into your ear canals and worm it’s painful way to your brain. She had no idea what it felt like to have that clay like substance suddenly decide now would be a good time to harden to a razor sharp edge. She had no idea what it felt like to have those little razor wires then rip through brain and bone.

And she never would. Because she was, for all intents and purposes, made of clay and silver.

She did know what it felt like to hear that victim scream. She did know what it felt like to run her fingers through someone’s head. She did know exactly what it felt like when a man’s life left his body, and she even knew what it felt like to be nourished by that soul.

The blonde shook her hands- lily, white, delicate little things- and the droplets of blood slid away, leaving them clean. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smoothed the folds of her spotless gown- she had learned to ‘eat’ without dribbling all down her front long ago. She examined the mangled mess that had once been the murderer/rapist’s head but was now not so much a head as a pile of blood and brain and shards of bone. So he had had a brain after all. She was always surprised to find that out.

Silently she glided away, moving in that disconcerting way, as if she was jointless, or boneless- that delicate, graceful, non-human sort of way. She glanced around. And she was gone- naturally she moved more quickly than the eye could follow; when she moved at normal human speeds, the motions were deliberately slowed down.

Lilain knew exactly how all those things felt.

They felt fucking amazing.