The blood was everywhere. On his hands, on his clothes, dripping from the metal, pooling on the floor, pooling on his shoes, even running down his circular golden frames with a beautiful curving motion. He grinned a catlike grin, illuminating his face with a grim light, narrow shoulders rolling contentedly as the satiated tiger gracefully sidestepped from his fresh kill. His amethyst eyes flicked to the still-beating heart, the still-pumping blood vessels, slowly dying, exposed to life's sweet oxygen and quickly losing the fight from the ripped chest orifice.
Ooh, that was fun. That was the first fresh meat he'd had in days…weeks, even. His father had been limiting his resources lately, but not so.
Jizabel leaned back on a counter, grinning, lifting his hand to his mouth and beginning to clean his paw from his subject's blood. He then continued to his fingers, licking the tips like he'd just devoured something sweet and sticky, clearly enjoying the taste by nearly purring with satisfaction…it was a toxin.
A sweet toxin.
An addicting toxin.
Even now, his stomach stirred with pleasant disease. His heart thrummed with a slow, sauntering beat of the sanguinary sickness, his head swam with the hot and cold phases of a magnificent undertaking of illness. He looked with a calm, half-lidded, careless gaze at the carcass, raising his eyebrows. The toxins care not for the mere uninfected who get in the way of the zombies.
He let out a laugh. His chest was cold. He smiled. His skin was crawling, nerves aching, blood boiling only to circulate and become cold once more in another intravenous system. The toxin was acting as a mercy…a mercy that allowed Jizabel to be heartless and emotionless. It was the toxins in his head that allowed his love for his father and brother to survive…it was the toxin that ruined him, yet made him complete. Made him break, but held him together at the times he was falling.
God, he loved that toxin. The toxin that kept him sane.
…That toxicity that kept him insane.