Friend Of The Dead

Something Wicked

His lips were on her neck.

Her skin was soft under his touch, like silk, distinctly in the back of his mind, something told him this is where he liked to kiss her, near her throat, so when she hummed in content he could feel the vibrations beneath his lips.

She was tucked into him, Dorian's arms were possessively around her waist, holding her delicate frame, her back to his chest. They were sitting down somewhere, somewhere dark and woodsy, surrounded by misshapen items and knickknacks.

She was leaning further into him, tilting her head, soft, she was so soft, and her hands were gripping his, her hair falling to one side as she turned her head to face him, eyes closed in ecstasy.

But then. . ."something. . .wicked."

He stopped, his breathing stopped, he drew back a bit to look at her and gazed with horror as she opened her eyes.

There was no colour in them, they were an empty, dull grey, as if the colour had been drained out. They looked dead, there was no spark of life.

Her lips were parted and she was looking up at him vacantly.

"Something. . .wicked." she lifted her head to press her mouth against Dorian's roughly, catching his breath in the bruising kiss.

When she drew back, her lips were stained with red.

As was the rest of her body.

Dorian's eyes travelled down in muted dread, seeing her dainty frame clad in a light blue dress that slipped off her shoulders, exposing more of her skin, skin that was looking repugnant.

The beautiful dress was changing colour, Dorian realized, in certain parts, it was turning a dark brown.

No. . .not brown. . .crimson.

The Girl sighed against his jaw.

She was bleeding.

He felt his throat close up as he looked across her skin, seeing several places where the flesh had been roughly disfigured, leaking blood. He couldn't help but look closer, and he almost wished he hadn't. The disfigurements were bite marks, places where teeth had sunk in viciously and mercilessly, teeth that looked like it belonged to some wild animal.

"Something wicked." She repeated, threading her bloodied fingers through his over the back of his hand, guiding them to press against her wounds.

Dorian could do nothing but press down, as if there was any hope of her surviving this.

The Girl sighed again, leaning her head against his shoulder as if she was finally happy. Dorian's hands were shaking as he pressed them against her wounds, only succeeding in bloodying them more. Blood coated her like a blanket, bite marks all the way down to her knees.

She still looked like an angel.

What kind of monster could hurt an angel?

She suddenly shifted, turning to him on her knees, her face levelled with his. Her big, beautiful, empty eyes stared at him blankly as she neared her face, Dorian's heart speeding up. She was dying, she was dying, she was dying in his arms.
She stopped when the tip of their noses touched, her red-stained mouth speaking the words slowly.

"I waited for you," she whispered, as though she was telling him a secret.

A hand lifted and settled against his jaw.

"I waited. . .but you were lost."

Dorian's arms went slack when she stood up daintily in front of him, standing on her feet, her bandaged feet, the bandages hiding scarred flesh.