Featured by @fright for AAPIHM.
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A librarian gets sucked into a web of horror as she investigates a century-old disappearance in the new town she has moved into.
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Yvaine Agan had always led a quiet life and had expected to do the same when sh...
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The time had come.
Paisley Rose dipped the blade into the contents of the flagon, her eyes glittering like venom. Tonight was her night. Tonight she was going to take revenge on that foul man who had disrupted the very flow of her life. Tonight she was going to murder Jonathan Andras.
The bane in the flagon hissed as it made contact with the surface iron of the blade, bringing a satisfied smile on her lips. She was sure that the blade would alone be enough for sending Jonathan Andras to meet his creator but the bane? It would ensure that he surely dies. There will be no chance for survival.
Paisley wiped away the tears that had formed in her eyes, subsequently removing the blade from the flagon. She was going to do something tonight that she had never dreamt of doing. Would her life be the same? No, it was not possible. But will she be able to avenge her sister and her friend? Yes, and it was all that mattered to her at that moment.
Thus flinging on the hood hanging behind from the door of her bedroom, Paisley walked towards the stairs with the blade clenched tightly in her fist. Darkness trailed behind her, darkness loomed ahead. There was no light, no light that she could see.
Her eyes drifted to the two crooks, as she descended the last stair, who still lay there tied and unconscious. She walked towards them with the blade raised and like an experienced butcher she slit their throats. Unable to resist the attack in any way they slowly bled to their death with Paisley on the watch. This was what she wanted: to end them all with this blade, this blade which was an emblem of her rage.
Her fingers were covered in their blood and so was her hood. She watched their blood dripping down to the floor, dripping as would water making a soft sound as they fell. The icy winds rapped against the windows, their chill evident in the unmoving eyes of Paisley where there was no regret, no fear but only apathy. The winter had chilled her heart.
Letting out a laugh with tears running down her cheeks at the same time, she opened the door to her house and walked into the night, lost in lust for vengeance.
***
The Andras chateâu was quiet that night, unnaturally quiet. Not a tree moved its leaf or rustled its branches nor did the pond make any waves that night. A stillness hung over the air and a mist encompassed it from all sides, hinting at the occurence of something that shall change the town forever.
And in his bedroom, Jonathan Andras was fast asleep. He was so deep in sleep that he never noticed when the window in his room was flung open. Nor did he notice how like a lizard did Paisley climb into the room, her dress and hood torn and tattered. The blood upon her fingers and the blade had dried into a deep crimson, which glinted uncannily in the little light of the waning moon.
She clenched and unclenched her jaw. Jonathan was asleep which would ease her work. But she did not want him to be asleep. She wanted him to be wide awake and experience the pain, the pain he had given to the dead girls and her. She wanted him to experience it all. Nonetheless, she walked over to him, limping slightly due to the efforts she had taken to climb up the chateâu walls.
