The Secret Heiress | ✔️

𝚃𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎 𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝙰𝚐𝚘

☘︎ Jᴇɴɴɪғᴇʀ Rʏsᴏɴ ☘︎

The clown has a pair of surgical scissors and a knife in his hands. His irises glinted with a maniacal satisfaction, a crazed smile gracing his painted red lips.

"My dear Dolly Polly shut your eyes.
Lie still, lie silent, utter no cries.
As the witcher, brave and bold.
Paid in coin of gold."

Squished inside one of the many empty cemented rooms of the warehouse, the other four kids and I were each lying on creaky old hospitable beds, our wrists and ankles bound by iron chains to the eroded railings of the bed.

The clown approaches me first, singing and limping his way over. The slish-slash sound of the scissor's cutting movements were like the disturbing screech of a nail dragging across a blackboard.

The clown's eerie smile widens when he stops in front of me, staring down at my bound form with a psychopath's clinical gaze, as if thinking of ways to carve my body with his equipments.

Gritting my teeth to stop their tattering from the cold I felt in my veins, glaring at him to stop the tears that had been begging to unleash from the confines of my eyes since I've been bought here, I don't let the clown see my fear.

Although I hate the tremble wrecking through my body when the clown lifts my top to expose my bare stomach. He traces a horizontal line with the tip of his knife over my skin. It's barely a graze but I know what he's doing.

I'd read in an article how it wasn't about the pain that fueled a psycopath's pleasure. It was about the power they felt over their victims, the power of making the victims loose all hope and be completely on their mercy. He wanted me to fear him, to cower him and beg for his mercy and then he was going to kill me, kill all of us.

I knew the moment I gave up and surrendered, he'd be bored. Psychopaths get bored easily, it was what further fueled their maniacal tendency to inflict different types of torture on their victims and seek entertainment through it. The only challenge holding him back right now from killing all of us was me not fearing him. He'd do all he could to terrify me, to make me succumb. The faster I gave up, the quicker he'd be bored and decide to finish his game. I'd be damned if I played right into his ploy.

If I was going to die anyways, I'd rather die brave than in cowardice.

"He'll chop and slice you.
Cut and dice you.
Eat you up whole.
Eat you whole."

The first slight stab of the knife has me biting my tongue, stiffling a cry at the stinging pain.

"He'll chop and slice you.
Cut and dice you.
Eat you up whole.
Eat you whole."

He repeats the lullaby's lyrics like a broken record, twisting the knife while it's still partially within my skin. I taste the irony tang of blood from where I'd bitten my tongue too hard.

The clown is about to dive the knife deeper when a traumatized cry stops his movements,

"No, stop!" Mia begs, sobbing from the bed beside mine, her entire form trembling at an alarming rate.

The clown frowns before his smile grows wider, crazier. He pulls the knife out of my skin with a harsh tug and stalks towards her with purpose, completely ditching me.

My eyes grow wide in shock. I can feel the telltale of blood seeping down the fresh slice on my stomach as I yell, "NO! You were going to demonstrate on me first!"

The clown laughs, smug satisfaction clear in his laughter. He's going to hurt her because she tried to stop him from hurting me. I couldn't let that happen. She's my only friend here.