In the Arms of Morpheus

Still and silent, Evey hovered over V's sleeping figure with his own dagger dominant and glorious in her hand. Oh how she could so easily laughed at him then for his own failure, his stupidity. After searching for so long in the dark for him, at last she had found him. Helpless, vulnerable, and- from the dim light of the candle she had set down on a nightstand, she could clearly see- without a mask. Just where she wanted him.

Vaguely silhouetted, he lay undisturbed, his mind enveloped in the wings of sleep. Evey assured herself: This time, he will not wake. Her eyes fell on his vehement chest, its silent heaving, then on his honorable throat. Mesmerized by the sight of his scorched flesh, she reached out to gently caress it, drowning in the thrilling lust to kiss it and more so in the delight of splitting it open.

She smiled, already visualizing the beauty of his poisonous, glamorous blood dripping from the blade. She could do it, she knew damn well she could. However warm his breath, however sensual his scars, tonight was finally her chance to end this and to turn his vendetta on him.