Chan: Well...here I am again, creating some messed-up story that comes from the Bakura who now apparently resides in my mind...
Tilly: =-_-= ~Someone save me...~
Chan: Anyhow...without much further ado...torturing of Ryou! Huzzah!
Ryou: T_T
Tilly: Miao miao miao. ~Yu-Gi-Oh! itself, nor any of the characters, belong to Chan-Chan. Chan-Chan is just borrowing them to write this...thingy. Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Takahashi-san.~ =_=
-~*~-
I trail the tip of my finger along the warm, slick blood that stains your pale face. It is thinned subtly by the tears that mix with it. I smile to myself, and raise my finger to my lips. The salty, coppery taste is intoxicating, and I close my eyes...despite your cries and whimpers, I can escape for that one moment in the blissful taste of your life; of your fear and pain.
I open my eyes to see the question burning in your eyes...do I enjoy this? Do I truly enjoy tearing the joy from your heart? Do I honestly love to rape your soul of its securities?
Your weaknesses...they intoxicate my mind, as your blood does my lips. I feel no regret while I prick the tip of my knife into your flesh, between your collarbones. Your whimpers don't anger me, as you think they do. I enjoy listening to them, actually. Knowing your weaknesses, I feast upon the power and control as I exploit them to my heart's content.
I move away from you, slowly, and allow you your brief moment to cry. Fine, be that way. It will only make me more anxious. I stand and gaze down at you, propped against your wall, bruised and bleeding. Your soul has not shattered yet, though. You are strong, but I will yet break your Will...
I inspect your silvery-white hair, which by now is quite messy, and has patches of your sweet blood dried into it. My shift gazes to your face, which has only one cut across each cheek.
Your left eye is bruised; you shouldn't have tried to run.
Shallow cuts are etched into both of your arms; you shouldn't have told me to stop.
Crimson blood, from deeper slices, oozes slowly down your chest; you shouldn't have cried for someone to rescue you.
Ah, but don't you see? I have rescued you...from them. They cannot truly appreciate your beauty; the beauty that I see, as you truly are, screaming and whimpering and moaning, fearful and pained. Ah, the look of agony is well-practised on your features. I can see it in your gentle brown eyes...
I kneel by you again and gaze into your eyes, and you immediately turn them down toward the ground. Yes, good boy...you shouldn't look at me. You wouldn't want to, would you? Even if I allowed you the opportunity, you would not understand that gleam in my eyes, that lust for your blood.
I raise my hand again, and I chuckle softly as you flinch away. Don't worry, I won't hit you quite yet...
I touch the blood trailing down your chest and begin to draw, using my fingertip as my brush and your blood as my ink. I will not etch these words to your flesh; not quite yet.
Your breaths are beginning to become more laboured. Ah, blood loss already. Perhaps during the next session, I will not bleed you quite as much from the start...but I was anxious...
Once again I bring my bloodied finger to my lips and lick the thick substance away, revelling in the taste.
Your blood tastes wonderful..
Tilly: =-_-= ~Someone save me...~
Chan: Anyhow...without much further ado...torturing of Ryou! Huzzah!
Ryou: T_T
Tilly: Miao miao miao. ~Yu-Gi-Oh! itself, nor any of the characters, belong to Chan-Chan. Chan-Chan is just borrowing them to write this...thingy. Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Takahashi-san.~ =_=
-~*~-
I trail the tip of my finger along the warm, slick blood that stains your pale face. It is thinned subtly by the tears that mix with it. I smile to myself, and raise my finger to my lips. The salty, coppery taste is intoxicating, and I close my eyes...despite your cries and whimpers, I can escape for that one moment in the blissful taste of your life; of your fear and pain.
I open my eyes to see the question burning in your eyes...do I enjoy this? Do I truly enjoy tearing the joy from your heart? Do I honestly love to rape your soul of its securities?
Your weaknesses...they intoxicate my mind, as your blood does my lips. I feel no regret while I prick the tip of my knife into your flesh, between your collarbones. Your whimpers don't anger me, as you think they do. I enjoy listening to them, actually. Knowing your weaknesses, I feast upon the power and control as I exploit them to my heart's content.
I move away from you, slowly, and allow you your brief moment to cry. Fine, be that way. It will only make me more anxious. I stand and gaze down at you, propped against your wall, bruised and bleeding. Your soul has not shattered yet, though. You are strong, but I will yet break your Will...
I inspect your silvery-white hair, which by now is quite messy, and has patches of your sweet blood dried into it. My shift gazes to your face, which has only one cut across each cheek.
Your left eye is bruised; you shouldn't have tried to run.
Shallow cuts are etched into both of your arms; you shouldn't have told me to stop.
Crimson blood, from deeper slices, oozes slowly down your chest; you shouldn't have cried for someone to rescue you.
Ah, but don't you see? I have rescued you...from them. They cannot truly appreciate your beauty; the beauty that I see, as you truly are, screaming and whimpering and moaning, fearful and pained. Ah, the look of agony is well-practised on your features. I can see it in your gentle brown eyes...
I kneel by you again and gaze into your eyes, and you immediately turn them down toward the ground. Yes, good boy...you shouldn't look at me. You wouldn't want to, would you? Even if I allowed you the opportunity, you would not understand that gleam in my eyes, that lust for your blood.
I raise my hand again, and I chuckle softly as you flinch away. Don't worry, I won't hit you quite yet...
I touch the blood trailing down your chest and begin to draw, using my fingertip as my brush and your blood as my ink. I will not etch these words to your flesh; not quite yet.
Your breaths are beginning to become more laboured. Ah, blood loss already. Perhaps during the next session, I will not bleed you quite as much from the start...but I was anxious...
Once again I bring my bloodied finger to my lips and lick the thick substance away, revelling in the taste.
Your blood tastes wonderful..