She trembled beneath him, legs spread, an open casket soon to be atop the hungry worms within the dirt of a grave meant just for her. Just for her.
Her tiny little soul is barren, yet luscious, like the succulent marrow within a stark white bone.
Her breath heaved in quivering intervals. Beyond couldn't tell whether she was enjoying it, or if she was just acting the part of a young girl so driven by the demands of society, to at least pretend to like the ministrations of a man almost twice her age.
The carmine zero floats above her head, so beautifully.
Her eyes, flickered with fear, and a breed of curiosity he found to be so delightfully morbid.
He had never seen such an epitome of both life, and death.
His kiss is like ice, while her lips yearn for the heat of true love.
How naïve she was.
The fact that he was indeed, gently violating a young girl barely out of the throes of childhood skimmed past his psychotic cognition.
All he felt was a vague sense of what the guild of humanity called lust, and his urge to kill, throbbing, pulsating, beneath the surface of his skin.
They shred the threads that hold them back, and they find themselves bared before each other, her sins nonexistent, and his, far too numerous to count.
His voice like a dark, charred, seething ember, he speaks to her. "You're beautiful." The sound of his words hold no emotion, but her eyes scintillate with burning recognition.
And she truly was beautiful. Her youth carried her body in tight regard; barely a hair upon the salivation-inducing cleft of her genitalia, firm budding breasts, and a face that made him ache in iniquitous anticipation, for its vernal temptation hounded his senses, and caressed the blessed insanity profoundly within him.
Becoming one, he is so deep within her, and her cries of pain and ecstasy spurs him to embrace the sickening come-hither finger that curls around the void below the adept mask he ceaselessly wears.
"Rue..." She moans, wrapping her arms around his gangly shoulders, the tears of physical and cerebral agony flowing from her eyes and onto his grotesquely pale shoulder.
He emtpied himself inside her, a passionless act committed only by a savagely platonic creature such as he, the only sign of his heightened bodily vexation incarnated through a flash of crimson in the widened ecliptic irises of his demented gaze.
Vascular, lush; she's perfect, in every way.
He revealed the glinting silver of a dagger, savoring the way her expression transformed from rapture to pure, unyielding terror. He would gouge her eyes out, and let the blood gush from the sockets into the roots of her long raven black hair, and leave her body, used and abused.
"Thank you for a wonderful night, my lovely Quarter Queen." He said.
And the night swallowed them both.