OOC: The following post pertains to a plot I'm starting. If anyone's interested in striking up a deal with a Demon (or being corrupted, or the like) please get ahold of me any way you know how. This will not necessarily make you a 'villain' when the time comes to pick sides. If you ARE interested in joining the cult and being a 'villain,' it will not make your character unplayable, but please get in touch with me about getting your character involved. Anyhow you want to get involved, please get ahold of me.
Reading this post is not necessary in any way, shape, or form.
It was dark. Cold. Barren. The unforgiving cold of the dying winter bit at the skin. It was an altogether unpleasant affair, walking alone through the streets of Myrken this evening - not something anyone would want to do, but some hadn't a choice. Some hadn't anyone to walk with, no one expecting them... and little to look forward to returning to, to boot.
Such was Lydia's case, a woman in her early twenties - lower-class, simply a peasant. A barmaid at a local tavern, actually, but that was immaterial... she didn't like her job, she tried to ignore the lecherous patrons, the unwelcome flirtations, and the baudy intrusions upon her person she suffered day in and day out.
She hated them. She'd never been a hateful person... not even an ANGRY person... but spend enough years around those sorts of people, and anyone would be jaded.
Religion had been no help... her prayers were never answered. She and her little sister never caught a break. First they'd lost their parents to the Drow. Then they'd lost their home to the Drow. Now they lived with Phillip.
An awful man, Phillip. In exchange for Lydia's... ahem... "cooperation," he sheltered and provided as little as possible for the pair to keep them alive. It was better than nothing... at least for Lydia's sister. Lydia would wish death if not for the need to look out for Jill... but what could she do? She often wished...
"Wished that he would die?" A sly, smooth voice echoed from the shadows to Lydia's right. The girl froze, wide-eyed, terrified.
"Who...who's there?? I'm armed...!" She lied weakly, with tremor in her words.
"Don't play games, Lydia, there's no need to be alarmed..." Hidden by the veil of darkness, the man smiled softly. They were always afraid... at least at first. "But it's true, isn't it? If only he were dead... you and Jill would be free. You're the last legal resident, you'd have the place to yourself..."
"...Y...yes... but... it's only..." She stammered, lips pursing, skin paling. It was almost as if the little red demon were sitting on her shoulder, as in the story of Faust... but this was crazy - who the hell was this guy?
"Only anger? Only transient wishes? Nothing serious? Is it really?" That smooth voice deepened, taking on a seductive - though entirely non-sexual - note. "Really? Or is that just what you want to think? What you try to tell yourself?"
She trembled, fingers clenching. Nails dug into her palms, small crimson droplets of blood forming where she'd pierced her skin. Her flesh pale, clammy, corpse-like, hardly daring to breathe, she turns to face her visitor. But there, within the shadows, she saw nothing... the voice was definitely originating from directly in front of her, but she saw nothing. This man was going to blackmail her... was going to tell Phillip... going to get them kicked out.
"You and I both know that's not true," The darkly sweet vocalization nearly purred, "you'd love to see him dead... you'd do it yourself. And you wouldn't care, would you?" A long, lingering pause, wherein the woman sucked in a sharp breath. "You'd enjoy it... Hell, you'd drag it out just to make him pay for how he exploits you, how he abuses you. You'd do the most grotesque things you could imagine, just to show him what it's like to wish you were dead."
"M-me...? I've never... I've never...!" She could barely speak. It was silly, she knew, but she suddenly felt naked. Exposed. Like every thought she had was on display for this... voice. This disembodied voice that knew things she'd never said, never written, never disclosed in AN Yway... it was impossible! And yet, here she was.
"Don't be afraid, Lydia... admit it. Say it... it's okay to hate. It's okay to loathe. It's okay to detest that monster for what he's done... and it's soothing to acknowledge it. You'll feel better. Trust me..." His words trailed off into silence, then.
(Mildly disturbing, perhaps. PG-13/R)
Lydia shook her head frantically, as if trying to deny to herself the truth in his words. She WOULDN'T... would she? Her head hurt. Her vision pulsed, throbbed, white-knuckled clenched fists refusing to relax. Images flowed through her head, images she tried to deny, to repress... Bloody images. Painful images. Phillip was not a... 'normal' person, and she'd the scars to prove it. But for Jill, to protect Jill... her rent was her body. She belonged to him, practically - he was not dangerous, but he was hurtful. It was always painful. He did not risk her life, but he ruined it nonetheless... Eyes closed, tears leaking from beneath her eyelids.
"You would do it, wouldn't you?" Her visitor pressed, silken words brushing over her ears like smooth cashmere, but gouging into her soul like sandpaper. She flinched visibly, a motion which drew a soft, deep chuckle. "Does it make you feel better, Lydia, to lie? Does it make you feel like you're pure?"
No response, except for a quiet, choked sob.
"You'd fucking DO it, wouldn't you?!" The voice suddenly grew angry, as if frustrated by her continued silence. "You would KILL him! MURDER him! DESTROY him!" It was no longer a smooth, seductive, pleasant tone but an enraged, echoing, almost monstrous yell. Lydia could have sworn it must have woken the town - but yet, no one came to investigate.
"I know what you would do, Lydia... I know what you think you keep secret. You've dreamt about it. FANTASIZED about it. I know exactly how you'd do it. Would you like me to prove it? Would you like to hear?"
She shook her head, crying audibly now. How was this possible? She'd never told a soul, she kept no journal...
(Seriously, if you're not interested in the gruesome details, PLEASE SKIP TO THE SECOND POST)
"Well, I'm going to tell you... you'd walk home from work, just like any other night... just like tonight, even. You'd bring him the bottle of scotch he always wants you to steal - and are fortunate that your boss understands your situation and lets you keep. Except this time, when you bring the class to pour him some while he lies in his bed nude... as he does many nights, expecting you to pay your ... 'rent,' you'd simply crush it over his fat, deformed, grotesque skull."
"It wouldn't be hard, you know. He's not athletic. He's stronger than you, but he's always drunk when you get home anyways. He'd never react in time. You know that." Lydia nodded pathetically, trembling but silent.
"You'd smile, then, after the glass had shattered and jammed its way into his flabby flesh, his blood mixing with the scotch as it flows freely from the incisions made. But that? That's just the beginning. Oh, yes... you had much more in store, didn't you? Because you didn't just want to fucking kill that son of a bitch, you wanted to show him what it was LIKE to want to die. And how would he learn that lesson if you didn't make him SUFFER?"
"And we're not talking about any typical slow death... no, you really thought this shit out - and it's gruesome, too. Frankly, I'm impressed. You were going to cut it off first, weren't you? He'd lose a lot of blood, but you'd not have to worry about the screams..."
"Stop it..." she whimpered, turning her head from the perceived source of the voice.
"After all, how could he scream audibly with that bloody, disgusting lump of dirt-encrusted flesh crammed down his throat? But that wasn't all he'd lose, was it?"
"St-stop it... please..."
"Anything he ever abused you with, you intended to take from him. His fingers. His hands. His feet. His tongue. His lips. And what were you going to DO with all of that flesh? With all of that blood?"
"E-e-enough..."
"It's fine, I already know. But you know, I can't figure something out... once you gouged out his eyes with that insipid knife he always used..."
"Please... stop... I... just..." She sank to the ground, pulling her knees to her chest.
"But why would you put them..."