With every scream, every pleading sob, every tear, came more laughter.
Maniacal laughter that echoed across the room as the knife slashed across their faces.
They weren't jagged cut across their faces, they were more gentle-yet forceful- strokes across their cheeks.
He wasn't crazy.
He wasn't a murderer.
He was merely… an artist.
And with his craft, he made the world smile a little more.
The blood seemed like a small price to pay.