𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝕭𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖘 ⤞ 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡

4 | 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠.

❝May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house.❞

- George Carlin

       Aren't you a beautiful thing? Such a charred, damaged work of art.

       Penelope's body was curled around a spare pillow from the hotel room's bed, her bare skin shielded from the chilly air by the comforter wrapped around her. The feeling of finger tips ghosting through her hair caused a shiver to shoot down her spine. Rough pads brushed over her parted lips, moving down her chin and across her collar bone. Faint trails of coldness followed the movement, leaving her skin covered in goosebumps.

       Yes, you're the most corrupted masterpiece I've ever laid my eyes on. So much perfection in such a ruined beauty.

       Tiny wisps of hair fell across her forehead, a tickle erupting when they were brushed back into place. The smell of aged liquor and freshly starched clothes filled her nostrils. It made foggy images flicker in her numbed mind, never being able to focus completely and fading away before they could register in the tiniest way. The nostalgic feeling that came with those distant, unfocused pictures caused her naturally tense body to relax. But, the cooling sensation that continued to spread through her sun-kissed skin gave its aid, as well.

       And you, my dear, shall be the final addition to my collection.

        The medication that lingered in her bloodstream kept her from opening her fluttering eyes completely. It was a side effect that made James, who was perched on the side of the mattress Penelope rested upon, sigh in content. The fingers that were once coated in the blood of others were able to freely roam the expanse of her soft skin. To feel every freckle and scar she had to show. When their contrasting shades of skin come into contact, it was like static covered every inch of them.

       James had been sitting there, simply observing her while she slept, for the entire evening. Pushing the occasional stray hair out of her serene face, or adjusting the comforter when she'd kick it away. It was odd, very much so, that a man filled with such an intense darkness was watching over another human being. That the man known for his infamous murder techniques and horrendous displays was being gentle and careful as he caressed - another word he'd never imagined himself using - her silky skin. The way he was acting went against his true nature, yet he couldn't tear himself away from her resting form.

       Perhaps, it was the way her dark aura spilt from her essence and blended itself with James' own demented one. Or, it could've been the way Penelope, who was still in a deep slumber, would reach out to touch his hand whenever another blurred image flickered in her mind. It was as if her subconscious knew of something - something Penelope wasn't ready to remember - and was acting on its own, twisting their fingers together as some sort of safe haven for her.

       Now, that I have you - I don't think I'll ever let you go.

       Melancholy. That was how James felt when the sunlight that had fallen previously began to ascend in the sky, signaling that Penelope's friends would soon arrive, like they did every morning. They would arrive at ten minutes till eight o'clock, and promptly awaken Miss O'Hare before dragging her out of the hotel for more tourist-like activities. They would take her away, far from his reach, leaving his day seemingly empty - aside from the few extracurriculars he'd occupy himself with.

       In the short amount of time she had been there, Penelope had become the highlight of James' usually dull and bland day. Seeing her strut back through the Cortez's front doors gave him the same feeling he got when he made his very first kill; the mere sight of her excited him in ways not even his former wife could. Another thing that James found bewildering was the fact that he no longer had that burning desire to see Elizabeth, or rather, The Countess, as she frequently referred to herself as. He no longer wished to give her everything her wicked heart desired, nor did he spend all of his free time fantasizing about their past together.