Warning: This book contains several aspects of dark and sensitive subjects, including extreme acts of violence and depictions of gore, language, torture, minor (non-graphic) sexual themes, and cannibalism. If you are sensitive to any of these themes, please don't read this story. Your mental health is worth more than my views. The main character of this novel is a psychopath and portrays some of the more extreme symptoms of criminal psychopathy. According to the DSMV, psychopathy can be defined as a strain of Antisocial Personality Disorder with marked features of callousness and lack of empathy toward others. My intention is not to make light of this disorder or the depraved actions of this character, but to realistically portray the more extreme actions of some individuals with psychopathy.
The perfect plan. This can't go wrong.
Dottore smiled as he adjusted his white coat and knocked on the wooden door in front of him. The Tsaritsa would soon welcome him into her bedroom. Lavishing her with a few secret gifts, throwing her coy glances in the throne room…yes, they'd gotten her attention. He wouldn't have received the first invitation written in her sharp cursive if they hadn't. Now, he stood outside of her room for one of his regular visits, ice-blue hair combed to frame his face.
A quiet creak announced the Tsaritsa's arrival. The ruler of his homeland beckoned him into her sleeping chamber, clothed in a scarlet dress. Her most recent present from him—an onyx blossom—adorned her platinum locks.
"Good evening," Dottore purred, stepping into her room and closing the door behind him. "You summoned me?"
She'd sent him a letter at breakfast, alerting him to some news she had to share. It likely had to do with some feminine urge to announce her true feelings for him, an outpouring of the heart he'd heard several times before.
"You'll tell no one of this," the Tsaritsa replied, face paling.
"Oh, not at all, my dear." His lips curved upward into a smirk as he stretched a hand toward her and stroked her hair. "It'll stay our secret."
She stiffened at his touch, and her fingers quivered.
She's nervous tonight. Easy…gently… The instructions played through his mind as he returned his hand to his side. Let her come to you.
A moment of silence passed between them. Breaks between whispers could have the same effect as a well-spoken compliment.
"Our secret and no one else's," she finally murmured, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
Dottore pulled her into his embrace, allowing the Tsaritsa to rest her head on his chest. For the Archon of Ice, her body emitted a gentle warmth. He sighed as her fingers worked themselves beneath his mask and unclasped it from around his face. It fell to the floor with a quiet click, revealing his crimson gaze.
"Your eyes." She stared up at him, pink dusting her cheeks. "I wish I saw them more."
"You only need to ask." He leaned toward her, eyes half-closed as he pressed his lips against hers.
Tightening his grasp on the Cryo Archon, Dottore reached for the steel dagger hidden beneath his coat. His fingers curled around the blade, and he tugged it from its sheath. Turning the point toward the woman in his arms, he forced his weight toward her.
A sharp gasp erupted from the Tsaritsa as he let go of her. Blood trickled from her mouth as she sank to the floor, unable to speak.
"I'm sorry, my dear, but I'm afraid the world can be a cruel place," he whispered, smiling. "I must thank you for your gnosis. It'll be of great use to me."
The light faded from her silver eyes, and she slumped backwards, revealing the wound that had punctured her lung. For a couple of minutes, her lifeblood gushed from the gash in between her ribs. Red stained the pale marble beneath her body and spread to his feet.
Kneeling in front of her, he stretched a hand toward her cheek. As her final breaths echoed in the stillness of the bedroom, he leaned over her and offered another kiss: his final gift to his fading mistress. Blood stained his lips as he pulled away from her, and he pulled a handkerchief from his coat. Smiling, he wiped the unwelcome nuisance on the pale cloth before stuffing it back into its place.
Thank you.
His plan had succeeded.