AN: Yerpaderp. . . . disclaimy. . . . yerpaderp
The Red Eyed Needle
His breaths were slow and even as he slept. He looked too peaceful. The girl lay on the floor. She had bled out hours before. It was three hours before sunrise. She had three hours to play with her new toy. Her only purpose now was to kill, she may as well enjoy it.
Sybelle placed the needle at his right temple. If she hit him just right, he would be paralyzed. The knob was sturdy and had never given under her palm. She trusted it now. He would be dreaming, thinking that the breath on his face was that of a simpleminded bar maid whom he would dispatch without mercy. He would be dreaming. In a few moments, he would be screaming. She smiled.
She straightened her arm and, all at once, she shoved with all her body weight onto the knob.
The weight of her body was supposed to push against the skin and bone and brain. Why was she falling onto the bed? Why was she suddenly jerked back? A hand at her mouth?
"Don't make a sound," he whispered. Reality rushed around her. Behind her was her mark. She pulled her head forward. His hands tried to pull her head back. She let her head use the momentum of his hand to push her head back and put her own force with it. Her head bent back with inhuman force. "You are a spirited one!" He laughed in her ear. How had she missed?! How?! The room was cold and spinning out of focus. Then, there was nothing.
He was laughing at her. His voice rang in the room and she was aware of it. She was barely aware of her body. Shifting endlessly. Solid and compact, in a prison of flesh, with a name and a mind. "I'm not afraid of you," she whispered. "I know you, and your kind. Not well enough I assume, otherwise I would already be dead," her lips curled in a sneer and her eyes focused on him. He sat across the way on the floor, laughing at her. He reclined against the moldy stone with his left arm over his left knee. His face ruddy with joy as he laughed and bared his fangs unashamedly. It would've been a handsome face, surrounded by all that dark curly hair, if you didn't know the mind behind it and what it was capable of. "You haven't killed me for a reason," she sighed, "what is it?"
"He chose you well," he sobbed through his tearful laughter, dark blue eyes watering and swollen from his fit. Comprehension tried to swallow her, but, unlike herself, she tried not to assume anything. "You were so sure that you had me," he gasped. "Foolish girl," he smiled wickedly. "I will allow you to live for the mere fact of the weapon you chose," his smile sobered, "I know what it is you would've done with it, and I appreciate that," he gazed curiously at her with a piercing blue eyed gaze. "Why, though? Why choose the needle?" His eyes never left hers as she answered.
"If I punctured you right, you would've lived for a long tyme after I'd done it, but you wouldn't've been able to move," the floor was cold against her cheek and made it easier for her to smile, to bait him. "I wanted to take my tyme with you after what I'd seen," her memories wanted to swallow her back into the darkness, she could let it have none of her if she intended to live. His smile instantly sobered, then, it was like he had reclaimed a sense of composure.
"You are a smart one, I'll give you that," his smile returned to torture her. "You leave your head on the floor to keep your mind clear, focused" his eyes flicked to the wrist that was curled under her. That very same wrist hid a weapon of sorts. . . if she threw it right. She smiled, he lunged at her. The metal flew through the air. The knob was too heavy to keep a straight flight so she spun it with her wrist. The needle caught him in the hollow of his neck, above his heart. Vincent smiled, it was no longer the baiting smile that you would give to a petulant child, but the smile of a friend. How handsome he would be if she didn't know that his true pleasure came from destroying a person almost completely. She felt no fear toward this man, strange, even tho she truly did wish him a cruel death for doing what he had done. But still. . . .
His hands grasped the knob of the needle and pulled it out. No blood poured from him. He had no blood to pour. The hands of the dead reached out to her, she grasped those hands and lifted herself from the floor. "You are pure to our cause, young Murderer. You are far too young to know hatred, and regret. Yet your gait betrays you, my friend, you do know. I hope you harness your anger and learn to live with your regret," he smiled at her. Vincent bowed imperiously and held out the needle. "I will forever know you as "The Red Eyed Needle," he put his arm about her shoulders. "Welcome to The Dark Brotherhood, Sybelle."
AN: R AND EFFIN" R! Please! I WUV YOUS!