Post by Ange de la Mort on Jan 24, 2011 23:48:18 GMT -5
The day of the Queen's memorial was quiet, quieter than I liked, for my sort of business was best done in dark corners amidst busy streets. Today that was not to be, but I knew that Night's Doorstep, at least, would still prove fertile ground. The death of the Queen had begun the itch in my blood, and my only sorrow was that I had not been the one to kill her. Poison was base, a woman's weapon, I would have strangled her with my bare hands, watched the life ebb out of her. Queen or pauper, it was all the same in the end.
The Dragon's Den was ostensibly closed, but it was not hard to slide in the backdoor among the other addicts who could hardly go a day without their drug of choice. I myself only indulged occasionally, but it was no trouble to lure a girl into a back room with promises of opium. I didn't give it to her, though, before hitting her over the head and tying her limp frame to the bed. I stuffed a piece of cloth in her mouth and smoked it myself, waiting for her to awaken. I had paid for the room for several days, so that I would not be rushed, and the way things had fallen out, no one would miss me in the chaos surrounding the Queen's death. I said a silent thanks to her, for allowing me this respite from my daily life.
I waited for her to wake, and then I just watched. Watched the drug wear off, watched her get sick and shake, took the rag out of her mouth so I could watch her vomit and beg, all the while I let the blue smoke of the opium float around me. It was entertaining, but eventually I grew bored. So bored that I did not even bother to rape her, only slit her throat and left the pipe in her mouth, then wandered home, restless and knowing that it would not be long before I killed again.
The Dragon's Den was ostensibly closed, but it was not hard to slide in the backdoor among the other addicts who could hardly go a day without their drug of choice. I myself only indulged occasionally, but it was no trouble to lure a girl into a back room with promises of opium. I didn't give it to her, though, before hitting her over the head and tying her limp frame to the bed. I stuffed a piece of cloth in her mouth and smoked it myself, waiting for her to awaken. I had paid for the room for several days, so that I would not be rushed, and the way things had fallen out, no one would miss me in the chaos surrounding the Queen's death. I said a silent thanks to her, for allowing me this respite from my daily life.
I waited for her to wake, and then I just watched. Watched the drug wear off, watched her get sick and shake, took the rag out of her mouth so I could watch her vomit and beg, all the while I let the blue smoke of the opium float around me. It was entertaining, but eventually I grew bored. So bored that I did not even bother to rape her, only slit her throat and left the pipe in her mouth, then wandered home, restless and knowing that it would not be long before I killed again.