Disclaimer: Silent Hill is owned by Konami. This story is purely for entertainment purposes.
Playthings
Valtiel observed the alarmed form in his grasp. She writhed under his hands, struggling to free herself from her confinement; wholly ignorant, not realizing her plight was not her own.
It wasn't her, he knew. The real her. That was something they could not touch, regardless of their power. Alessa's power made sure of that.
But they felt her misery. She was still connected to this town, even if she no longer dwelled there. She was still suffering for what she had done. And they were certain she could feel them back, wherever she was.
She was beyond their reach. They could not punish her. But this, this was something they could punish.
The woman had the garb of a nurse, sort of. The uniform wasn't complete, but it was a reasonable facsimile. Long black hair trimmed just to the shoulders, pale white skin nearly heavenly in its splendor, limbless arms that stopped just at the biceps – she was beautiful. It wasn't an exact replica, but she would do for now. They had the power to give life to creations – to bring things normally unseen into existence. Vengeance demanded that they use it.
The creature grabbed the woman's legs, manipulating them erratically in its vice-like grip. His long cord like tongue emerged, dripping acidic saliva into her body. Valtiel loved the struggle. He loved watching her try to escape. With a sharp jerk of his arms the creature snapped her legs in opposite directions, breaking the bones at the hips. The woman gave a monstrous cry of agony, the horrific sound a reminder that she was not really human. He pulled further, tearing the flesh like cloth, opening her up to his eyes. The nurse's head spasmed in torment, her eyes rolling up into the back of her head and her mouth frozen in a soundless scream. Like an out-of-control electrical cord, his tongue dipped down into the body, feeding off the fluid pouring from inside. It was a like a drug, the sweet, coppery taste of misery embodied. How beautiful the blood was, so elegant in its crimson, so mysterious in its power. He would never tire of seeing the shade on the walls of this place, the Paradise of all those who followed the Crimson One. This was made in her image, the color that of the Goddess embodied.
To a passerby, it would have seemed like an image out of their darkest nightmares – an armless woman writhing in the air, with a gruesome demon above her, in a tangled orgy of suffering. But there were no passersby in this realm, only the tortured moans of its inhabitants.
Valtiel pulled erratically at the woman's legs, shaking the life out of the fractured being. He felt a vague amusement as he manipulated her broken legs back and forth. It amazed him how free he was in this realm, compared to the earthly domain. So much to see, so much to do. The people would be horrified at the occurrences that took place here every day. But that was the Otherworld, as the humans called it. Magnificent, chaotic, supreme in its existence; unbound by the rules of 'reality'. If only they knew how thin the barrier between this dimension and their world truly was; how easy it would be to dissolve the barrier, if only for a moment, and lure them into this realm of their nightmares and memories.
Sometimes the truth was exceedingly disturbing.
It was only a matter of time until she gave out. With a final series of spasms, the woman's head dipped forward, and she fell motionless for eternity.
A white nurse's cap fell to the ground. Next to it was a tattered piece of paper, written by someone desperate to escape their hellish environment. "Alessa, I'm sorry. I can't go on like this," the note said, it's writing that of a person barely in control of their faculties.
"I hope you escape this hell someday."