"I will burn down the whole fucking world until you have nowhere to turn but my arms."
Jim Moriarty has always loved fairytales. In particular, grim, macabre ones that end in bloodshed. You've been abused by your step-family for years - in every me...
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"WELCOME TO THE GAME, CINDERELLA."
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Once again, you're left at a loss for words. This man is a mystery to you in every conceivable way, wrapped in both the literal shadows of your hotel room and the ones that are metaphoric - those shadows are the ones on his soul, the blemishes of having perpetrated something horrific and having enjoyed it.
"It felt good." The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. He's the first person that you've been able to talk to about this, and it makes you feel betrayed that you would so easily give up something so incriminating.
Moriarty leans back further in the chair. He's completely at ease - there's no glimmer of doubt in his dark eyes. "Go on - more. Don't be simple. Tell me everything."
Your shoulders sag slightly, and you practically have to prop yourself up against the door to remain upright. The thought enters your head, then, that you could try to leave. Strangely, you don't want to. "I felt victorious. They had always been there, treating me like I was less than them, like I was made to serve." Your voice comes out as a hiss, so horribly acidic, so venomous. "It felt liberating."
You feel very much like you're confessing, whispering the worst things you've ever done to a priest through a confessional booth. Though, you're certain that this is no man of God.
His lips quirk upwards, and his eyes widen. He looks utterly delighted, like a child presented with their favourite dessert. "Oh, isn't that nice. No regret, I take it? Even though you hacked them to pieces and let them burn?" Moriarty sounds almost breathless - like he's dizzy, or intoxicated.
"None at all."
And in an instant Moriarty understands why Sherlock wants to find you so badly. You're terribly interesting, enrapturing even. He'd seen the crime scene photos. The destruction alone was fabulous, a true marvel to look at. But you...you make it so much better. So much more intriguing.
"Oh how lovely." He breathes, discarding the glass slipper and placing it back on the table so he could clasp his hands together. "So, Cinderella gets sick of the evil step-family and burns them to ash." Moriarty sounds rather whimsical, like he's musing, but his eyes are fixated solely on you.
"I'd prefer if you didn't call me Cinderella, you know. I have a name." You say rather boldly. You've gathered enough courage to stand on your own now, no longer relying on the door for support. You stare him down, fire in your eyes.
Moriarty looks bemused, a single eyebrow tugging upwards. "Yes, I know your name, Cinderella. In fact, I know everything about you."
"I'd gathered that much," You retort. "I just want to know why. Why bother?"
