Based on the quote "The devil's voice is sweet to hear." -Stephen King, I think I made things at least a little creepy. This isn't my forte, really.
"You must be careful, Trisana!" Niko chided. "One day you'll kill someone, or yourself!"
She looked into Niko's trusting, worried face, and nodded.
Tris was silent, stony, and unemotional during her Cousin Uraelle's funeral.
The women around her cooed and fawned over her; apparently they were under the impression that Tris cared about the hag they were lowering into the dirt. Her hands clenched.
She hoped the witch burned in whatever hell lay in store for someone as soulless as her.
For years- years - she had toiled under this womens boot. She'd been kin, and was nothing but a servant to her Cousin. She'd been so hopeful, so ready to live again after her parents had kicked her out but…
"Here is your room, girl." Uraelle barked, shoving in the warped old door to reveal a rickety set of bed and drawers, covered with an inch of dust. "Clean it, and go to bed. I'll send someone to you for the days list of chores."
"Chores?" Tris asked, surprised. Since she'd been a child she'd had at least the odd nanny to help her clean up after herself (until she'd driven them off) and her parents had employed a chamber maid for the 'uncivilized' bits of household cleaning.
"Ungrateful child!" Uraelle's thin, whiplike cane flicked out to score a welt on Tris's shin through her skirts. Tris howled with pain, unused to corporal punishment from parents too terrified to lay a hand on her. "I'm taking you from my cousins out of the love of my heart and the deprivation of my pocketbook. You'll earn your keep if it's the last thing I do!"
In a way the old widow had been worse. She didn't believe in Tris's nonsense about being possessed, or how things reacted around her. Uraelle maintained that she was a wicked child in need of correcting. She did, often, and never without the helpful sting of her cane to help cement her words into Tris's brain. As the years went by, and the old ladies health failed ever more, she seemed to take ever more pleasure in adding more and more work to Tris's workload- so much so that there was no way the girl could finish.
The best part of Uraelle day was at dusk, when Tris was brought to her bedside with her incomplete list of chores and the old lady was able to harangue her about her stupidity, her slothfulness. No wonder her parents got rid of her, really-
"Shut up!" Tris growled.
Surprised, Uraelle's next retort was caught in her throat. Great coughing fits shook her frame as she gasped for air. Why was the air so thin in here?
"I hate you!" the girl hissed, her glasses glinting demonically in the light from the guttering candle beside the sickbed. "I hope you die, you hag. I hope your happy; the way you've treated me, you'll be going straight to hell. Since everyone seems to think I'm possessed-" Uraelle gasped, her lungs straining for air that seemed to be absent- she clawed at Tris's arm. "I suppose I'll be joining you eventually. But as for now…" Tris slowly pried open Uraelle's death grip on her arm.
"Die."