Girls from Hell

Girls will be girls

Perhaps there was not a happier day for Mathilda's parents than that when their child made her first friends. Judging by their queer taste in food, it was hard for Mathilda to find kinship in just any young soul. For Mathilda was a special case. The feast wasn't nearly as good as the hunt.

Like this one time, when Mathilda and her father bailed this teenage boy out. Oh, how she loved the sight of him—so handsome, so lean, and most significantly, so young. With that angelic face, you wouldn't think he was evil. Of course it'd be hard to imagine that he suffocated his little brother at age four, beat a playmate to death at age eleven, and sexually assaulted a schoolmate at age fifteen.

When her father told her about him, she had never felt more enthusiastic in her life. She cut his picture from the newspaper clippings and secured it under her pillow for good luck. So now that he was sitting right beside her in the car en route to their villa, Mathilda just couldn't quite contain her excitement.

"Did they fight you?" she asked, daintily placing her hands on her black ruffled skirts.

He stared at her, annoyed. "What?"

"Your brother? Your friend? That really pretty girl?" she asked again. "Did they fight you? I'm quite curious."

The boy—what was his name again? Darn it, let's just call him L—looked slightly pissed. His elfin ears were pink and his eyes, a darling shade of green, narrowed to slits. That didn't stop Mathilda from finding out more about her beloved.

"I bet they have, but you were strong, weren't you?"

He was breathing heavily, and when she tidied up her sleeves, he lost it and faced her. "Do you have a death wish?"

"She does," her father laughed. "It's a very adorable peculiarity."

L, who probably thought he could take both the elderly man and his daughter out fast, ignored the guy and settled his sights on the plaited, ruffled Mathilda.

"You're not my type," he hissed.

Her eyes shone when she whispered, "But you're mine."

"I will kill you, you little shit, if you don't shut the fuck up," he threatened.

Mathilda smiled lovingly. "My, my, what big teeth you've got."

He was about to hit her when Mathilda dove towards L. Wild and unrestrained, her mouth caught his arm and her teeth caught his skin. L screamed and tried to shove her away but Mathilda, with smaller human teeth, managed to latch on and then tear a little skin off.

"Mathilda," her father warned. "That is very barbaric."

"I like him, Father. I like him a lot."

"Well, if you keep that up, we won't have any for dinner," he said, chastising her. "Now, don't be selfish. You know your mom would love a leg."

Mathilda, with a terrifyingly strange strength for a teenager, pushed a semi-conscious L against the door and squealed, "Can I keep his head on my drawer? Oh pretty please? He's got such a pretty face."

Her father nodded. "Alright, dear, alright."

To that, Mathilda was exceedingly joyous. She would finally have something to share with Candy Cane and Bleu, her newfound friends. The only depressing thing about it was that they won't get to see L alive. As L struggled against the tinted window, Mathilda gazed at his shiny hair and petted his head like she would a puppy.

***

It was the screams that got to her the most. Close her eyes as she might; Bleu could still hear the shrill cry of pain from their victims. Victims should be an understatement. Cane only chose men who committed spiteful deeds. She had not once laid a finger on an innocent soul—not when Bleu was around, anyway.