Call Every Shot

This is power. This is living. I regard my prey slowly. His fear stinks like skunk piss. His aura is black and cowardly. Was that how I smelled back when I thought fear was useful? "Lady. Lady? I get what I did wrong, okay? Je tres desole!" Hmm..now that's fear. The one that slips the mind into a native state of beg to live. Pathetic and ineffective. My next actions were avoidable but necessary. All those supernatural books lied. Blood is warm, but more greasy and bitter like almost expired milk rather than metallic. There was the fire i I loved. The kind that comes when a chunk of your palm is being spat to the floor by someone you tried to control. "Raphael, for your life guess who said this, and I won't kill you. On my honor. Ladies know what to guard against because they read novels to warn them against these tricks."
"Tess of the d'urbervilles, Hardy."
"You cheated."
"No, on my honor!"
"You have no honor."
*
"Sorry. But a Lady always knows when to leave." I coo to the corpse.