Sinful Veils (18+) [GxG]

⌈6⌋ Clipped Wings

My head felt like an hourglass - with every pulse and throb, the sand would shift and pour down, making me feel heavier than ever. The tightness around my wrists was raw and unrelenting. Fibrous veins wrapped around my limbs, digging into my flesh. They trapped me like a python constricting its body around my own, forcing each breath I took to leave my mouth jagged and sharp with every twitch and twisting movement I made.

Darkness engulfed my being. I blinked once, twice, but with no luck could I spot anything in my surroundings. My eyes refused to adjust and my vision was set on the pitch black environment.

Though I did not need my vision to know I was bound - that the thick, coarse strands stretching around me were rope.

I felt myself starting to panic. I had no recollection of how I got here, wherever here was. I tried to focus.

I remembered the plan with Elio. The street was solemn at night, with a few passersby and dim lamp posts. My safety was the men's biggest concern - it was unusual for me to ever be involved in a hit like this, regardless of how close I actually was to the action. Yet, I still found myself in the heart of danger. I recalled being afraid, feeling fuzzy with fear and the wretched anticipation of being shot, or worse, taken. But here I was. 

Though I didn't know where 'here' was, and that fact terrified me still.

A dreadful sensation lingered in the air, like a pair of eyes watching its prey through veils of foliage.

I knew I wasn't alone.

My breath hitched in my throat. I was sat bound on a chair on full display to the monster in the dark, hearing the shuffles of a shifting shadow gliding across the floor with subtle, yet deliberate whispers of footsteps. 

I was buried deep in the domain of a lurking evil, experienced with their prey and ways of terror. Though I was only trapped with what sounded like one person, the fear was lingering and consumed me entirely through the cold, stagnant air. Their presence was entirely overwhelming, and their very essence covered and coaxed the room with an uncomfortable fog.

Who was it? 

The shadow shifted again, merging into the macabre atmosphere. I felt eyes watching me, a far gaze waiting for me to move out of my paralysis, stalking me and studying me despite being trapped - almost as if they were playing with their food. It began to feel personal.

What cemented that idea was my ability to process more of my senses, gaining the ability to take in the smell of the isolated room. A subtle, sweet yet rich smell - an expensive smoke? It smelt stronger and deeper than the ones I had the dismay of smelling at the Caruso estate.

My heart began to thunder in my chest as I realised what the odour could have been.

A Cuban cigar.

The deliberately elegant yet terrifying gliding footsteps, that no man in our world could ever replicate. The replacement of oppressive, flaunting thuds that they would step - for gentle, stalking ones.