Lavender and fear.
The acrid scent of a flora he knows he shouldn't detest; an emotion, a chemical stimulant he knows he should not hide from or be deterred by.
Lavender and fear.
He sees the reaction in her eyes at the mere mention of such a sentence - the glorious, mighty, sunken pit of nothing he smirks at in return.
Lavender and fear.
Scalpels are his choice, his tools, his no chance at deliverance - he chooses hell from heaven; eternity be damned if he had to see either of them for a second.
Lavender and fear.
He enjoys it; he abhors at it; and yet he needs it - the one act of finality, of torture, to remind himself of who he wishes to not, and yet still chooses to be.
Lavender and fear.
He was clutching onto lavender flowers as he watched his own parents brutally murder each other.
Lavender and fear - what is family, what is love?
Prove it to me, prove it to me;
Prove it to me please - with struggles, strangled pleas, and shattered porcelain.
Lavender and fear; Janie proves it by defending and protecting whom she loves.
There will be nothing but permanence and a lack of sense where the fires of hell rage from top, bottom, and within – soon.
He wanted to lose, he wants to lose, and he loses - the detective and the medical examiner, is family, is love.
Lavender and fear.
All is light, all is over.
There is only lavender, and an absence of fear – there is family, there is love.
A/N: Hi there, thank you, for the time.
Hmm. It's just an experimental piece I suppose - a dive into the mind of a serial killer.