Demon Stories

Violette: Red Spider, 1705, Italy

"I pray for pity, I pray for love," I say quietly up to you.

You don't know what to say to this so you continue to just weep.

"Do you know where we are," I ask.

Its obvious you don't know, and you can't shake your head because you are strung so tight. 

When I look up to you, a single tear falls onto my cheek from up above. 

"We're in a church," I tell you. "Its very dark, but that is where we are."

No response. But then a small whimper. "Please...it hurts..."

I step back, bringing with me the strings, which causes them to pull tighter. Up above, you gasp and your breath catches in your throat as the strings tighten around your wrists. Now I see them biting into your skin, and slowly blood is released and stains the white color of your bonds.

Slowly, I take small steps back and backward, and with each step comes that sound from you again. Tiny moans, breath sounds. The many looped strings around your wrists become blood red, soaked in red.

In the darkness, your black hair is loose about you and goes to just below your waist. It is bone straight. Your body is boyish, but you are a girl. Your head is dipped down onto your chest, because you haven't the strength to hold it up any longer. 

Without seeing your face, I could swear you are the one I wish to punish. This man-like demon, the one who cared for me as if like a father and a lover at the same time. 

I pull the strings tighter at these thoughts, and here I hit a wall. Framed by the stained glass window, your form looks ghostly, like you are just floating there. In your pose, you look like a headless angel descended. 

The beauty is lost on me. I just want to see your pain. I just want to see you suffer, so I can imagine it is her suffering instead.

She left me for another, and for this I wish to see her suffer. Not only this, but the one she left me for is a full grown woman with beautiful round breasts and breathtaking silky blonde hair. Something I can never be. But the worst part is, this new woman is a devil, and I know she is a devil. My lover does not know she is a devil, and this causes a different anguish in my heart. 

I hate her, but I can not see her destroyed like this. She does not deserve to be eaten alive by this devil woman. 

In pain, I sit on the floor and pull the strings just a few feet further. This was all it took for you to scream, just this little bit more.

"You do not deserve pain!" I yell, forgetting you are not my beloved in my misery. 

This is just met by screams, as the strings cut into your wrists and snap tendons. Your hands flop over, probably numb by now, a simple mercy of human flesh.

In pain, I fall to the floor and lay, face down. I don't want to see you anymore. I don't want to see her anymore.

These last couple of feet are the difference for the strings, and with double snaps I hear the web collapse. Your hands thump to the floor, severed. With slipping rubbing sounds, the web falls down with you in it.

With finality, the strings catch in knots, and there is a loud cracking sound. All is silent. You're silent.

Whimpering quietly and weeping to myself just a little, I remember my lover. Those grey moonlit eyes. The smooth cheekbones, the plump lips the color of burgundy. Now that I really think about it, you didn't look like her at all. 

For this, I look up at you and I feel guilt. You are displayed, strung up by your neck, everything looking too heavy. 

I'll take you away from here. I'll be a good girl, and I won't leave you like she left me. I'll give you a proper burial. Everyone deserves a proper burial, a parting of ways. A last good bye.