𝗙𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗲 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲 .ᐟ.ᐟ ꜱᴄᴀʀᴀᴍᴏᴜᴄʜᴇ ✓

↪ false dreams

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Scaramouche smiled darkly, flicking the lighter.

This one wasn't even for a ransom video. You were just a poor little butterfly, caught by two fingers in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now you were nothing but meat for him to play with.

You were crying, watching him through eyes sparkling with tears, snot trailing from your nose. He turned his smile on you, and you cringed away, wobbling.

He hadn't bothered to noose you, instead slipping the noose around your bound wrists as an experiment. You'd been wobbling something awful as a result, and your weight pulled forwards once he'd cinched your wrists up, hanging so high you could only stand on your tiptoes. He didn't doubt you were already in pain, but he looked forward to causing more for you.

You started mumbling through your spit-soaked gag as he came closer, eyes wide, terrified, and fixed on the flickering flame, you pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes, shaking as you tried to force yourself to slow your breathing. It had been a long time since you had last had a hard time making yourself calm down, and yet here you were.

"Don't worry," The obsidian-haired man says with his voice in that low, crooning tone that seemed to especially terrify his prey, "This isn't going anywhere near you. I just want to have some fun, that's all."

As he'd expected, his words did nothing to soothe you.

His smile deepened as he inched closer, gobbling up your fear. "Poor little butterfly, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time."

You burbled trying to move away from him, but there was nowhere for you to go. His hands reached out to your cheek, brushing his thumb tenderly over the bruised and grubby skin. You cried harder, your tears making your skin sticky, and he took his hand back with a sneer, wiping it on his shirt. "There's no way out for you, you know," He said, this time sounding calm and reasonable. "No one knows you're gone, and even if they did know they have no idea who took you, or if you chose to leave of your own accord. You'll never be found. In fact," He smirks letting the lighter flame die, leaning in close until they were nose to nose, "I'm the only person who'll ever know what happened to you. How's that?" He asks taking off the spit gag you were wearing, and it allowed you to finally breathe.

Shaking your head at the tears that blurred your view, you never thought he'd keep you like this, you thought you were instantly going to die right in the spot, not torture you, "Scaramouche! P-Please! Stop this and just kill me!" Your lips tremble as you try making more words, the black rocks you feel below your feet.

"Me? Kill you?..." He tilts his head so cockingly, acting so innocent as if he hasn't done a thing, his fingers clicked the lighter making flames flow up, "I would never do such a thing... In fact..." Sensing his verbal taunts would be approaching the end of their effectiveness, Scaramouche kneels down.

You didn't react except to cry harder. You were perched on a metal stool, and oh how he loved this bit. He flicked the lighter again, lowering the new flame to the brazier beneath the stool. The calls in the brazier glowed as they were set alight, and he waited until he was sure the flames had taken hold before he pocketed the lighter and stepped back. 

He looked up, meeting your confused and petrified gaze.

"There's a brazier beneath you, you see, all packed up with coals. It gets quite hot when I light it," he said, giving you a smile and patting your cheek, your eyes widened with incredible trepidation haunting right in front of you.

It took a few seconds for the penny to drop.

When it did, you fell into action, thrashing about and trying to see if you could step down on the ground with your bare feet.

It should have been feasible, because you weren't going to choke, and the stool wasn't big, but the winch around your wrists prevented it. You jerked back with a cry when the tension in the strappado proved too much for your shoulders, and looked about wildly like you could suddenly spy a way out.

The obsidian-haired just chuckled, reaching out for you again to wrap a hand around your throat. "Trying to find a way to get comfortable? I'd say don't bother trying, but it's actually rather amusing." He leaned in close again, indigo-piercing eyes staring into yours. "You're not getting freed, and this is going to hurt a lot."

"N-No... N-No please! Scara! I b-beg you please!" You cried feeling his grip begin to tighten every time you tried talking, the core of your vocals was in his hands, and you felt like dying at this minute.

"Fine... I'll you go..." Then he did let go of you, making sure to place back the spit-gag on your mouth again before stepping back to his chair, lowering himself into it to watch. You started making noises behind your gag again; pathetic pleas most likely, and he just let his mouth twist in a cruel smile again, linking his fingers together and setting his hands in his lap.

This was going to be fun.

Sure enough, it was. Watching you dance from one foot to the other, distressed and frantic that you couldn't find a way to balance and not wrench your shoulders. You were beyond shrieking, just frantic little pained noises and it was all so entertaining. 

His laughter was much of enjoying the show, "Oh~ this is not the end... it's the beginning of the end..." He says placing a hand on his chin, watching you muffle with indefining screams while your feet burn with burl charcoal below your feet.

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