Her Revenge
I feel so immensely disturbed...
I'm drawn toward all that is evil and wicked inside. Not that I should snatch that solitary dagger, lying centered at my twitching fingertips, steady my pulsing blood, and force the fine, steel blade into the abdomen of the seedy elder man. As he would gasp for his last perturbed breath, eyes of somber stone, lifeless and glaring with vast emptiness. Limbs wilted and outstretched on my linen sheets, he would lay mortified in my cell, as I would dig deftly into his wrinkled flesh, my nails tearing at every tissue and pumping artery in his being. He would be curved with perversion at my slender frame, nipping at every peck of skin. My hands would be nimble, carefully tearing out his blackened heart, listening to the delicious sounds of his blood vessels popping. His chest would be a hollow mass of fluid, his rotting insides filling the chamber with a pungent stench of death. His throat would be bared, and I wouldn't be able to resist my sharp teeth rupturing his neck where that thick, curdled vein runs deep. He would be sweating now, writhing into my body, the harsh sounds of his organs gurgling. Blood would spurt from his poisoned tongue, and he would attack with a fire of arousal and raw intensity. Now he would be paralyzed, and I would laugh with tickled pleasure, the insanity swelling within me... my taste for revenge growing stronger...