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You don't know the depth of my maddening love for you, the only regret I have is you don't know the depth of my love for you. — V.
Author's pov:
Somewhere in dark room there was feast of rats going on or more like hunter was feasting on rats and to make it worse they couldn't voice that out, scream for help to not get more bruises on their already blooded, cutted body due to the lack of tongue in their mouth,
—which was currently on floor.
It's not like even if they screamed anyone was going to liberate them, not when they are in lord's mercy. It's just the person infront of them hated noise, and when he was having time of his life while cutting the nails deprived fingers like a chef chopping lady fingers— he just doesn't wanted extra volumed noise in his fun.
No! He wasn't going to kill them. He would never do such sin, not when he can give them the tour of hell before landing them safely on the cruel world, again.
Where they will have mouth but won't having the tongue to curse, even beg for help. They will have the hands with the absence of fingers to touch anything without getting reminder of how he slice those while laughing and mocking their misery.
They will remember him, they will. Even by looking at their own shadow everytime for their whole life, knowing the real meaning of helplessness. With the trauma of fear and something more cruel which will be the cause of those nightmares.
That's all he wanted. Killing was no fun. He was done having that part of enjoyment and When he can make them helpless. Helplessness of the each situation, the same way they made helpless to someone.
He looked at the half dead bodies on chair limping due to his torture. His eyes twitched, sparkle in sinister's glow in them as he got up fixing him blooded gloves. He took his tools near the basin and started washing it clean for future use, back facing them.
The silence was primal, threatening until he spoke making the air more thin then how already it was.
“ I don't appreciate people who slide down my words,” the person chuckled looking back. The very dry and vicious one. “It tempts me to slide my knife down there throat.”
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