Diabolik Dominatrix

№➆

Fonts Used:
Cheatin by Matthew Welch
Cirkus by EvasUniqueFonts
Delectable by crazy cow

As always, I'm sure I missed some formatting, I'll look it over eventually but if you see it maybe point it out? Oh and this chapter title was a bit difficult to come up with, I kept changing it around and... anyway, to all those who really do interpret the titles in regards to the chapter themes, if this one is a bit abstract or obscure feel free to drop me a comment or message and we can think it through together!

Oddly enough, even though there are only two scenes in the chapter, this still comes out to about 5k words. Hmmm...if you see the chapter picture and notice that the number there is "6" (and not "7"), that's a typo/error I'll fix it later.

Anyway, enjoy!

№➆|❝Shades of Gray❞

Black is the color on the walls. It's perpetually dark here. Like a bottomless black hole it seems to swallow up all the colors in the universe, only leaving behind an empty, gaping nothingness... Some people would find it unnerving, like looking into deep space and seeing no stars, no pockets of light anywhere. It could be terrifying even; to be so blind to your own surroundings, so vulnerable, so naked. With its poignant vacancy it truly was like space; like being completely cut off from the world and all the natural senses of perception. That in itself was horrifying.

But a vampire sees best in the dark. For a vampire night is day and such a complete blackness is comforting.

Cold is the temperature. It's the kind of cold that strips the coat of your flesh right off, freezes your marrow, and makes your bones so solid they turn to stone. Immovable. Dead. The kind of cold that doesn't ever get warmer. With the solid cement walls and floors, the constant cold is just another intrinsic part of the room. The chill is hypothermic.

Breathe in the cold, breathe out death~

She chuckles weakly and watches her little puff of breath uncurl in the air in a short gray cloud. Then it vanishes.

But a vampire is immune to temperature, impervious to coldness. It can't hurt her.

It can't hurt me.

No, the darkness and the chill don't bother Chouko. She's too mature to be scared of the dark, too sophisticated to be bothered by petty temperature. Those are mortal insecurities. She's not weak.

But, sitting alone on the floor in the cold darkness, Chouko can admit to herself that the oppressive stillness, the silence that was what was going to make her little tiff in the dungeons unbearable.

You see, the thing about dungeons is that they are constructed so that the filthiness, the coldness, the darkness will eventually harm the imprisoned on a psychological level. Ironically that's what Chouko is least concerned with.

She has spent decades trapped within a coma inside her mind, suffering in her own little personal Hell of stagnation. And this little cell in the dungeons under the Sakamaki mansion is only a slightly roomier coffin. That and this time she actually is underground.

It's not claustrophobia that gets her, it's the powerlessness. Powerless to stop the nightmares from invading her mind, powerless to save herself, powerless to save her mother…

Always so powerless…

So in a never-ending free fall once again, all Chouko can do is reminisce, sit and let her feelings fester until she boils over in frustration.