ABSENT PILLOW TALK

Wicked was he, truly so. Impure in heart, mind and soul; his pleasures derived from the pain and suffering of others. From the distance, the behemoth could still sense the panic in the white angel and oh how sweet it truly was. Gentle murmur of the faint words she spoke echoed upon the frigid fingers of the air, yet none were intelligible by the time they reached the cupped ears of the bastard. Morte could only imagine they were a plea for her sanity, for her safety for while those words had never left her lips before, he knew she wished his existence had never been known to her. The man was like a disease that spread through the bones and the muscle, that etched it?s way into the body, made it?s home there and never left. He was poison, a tempest that was unrelenting and unwavering.

It was several moments before the phantasm moved, disappearing and reappearing between the trees as each near silent footfall pressed him closer to the proximity of the babe. Bloodied eyes burned like the fires in the pits of hell, the lust for her emanating from him in waves. It was far from a sexual lust, however, but the lust of a master for his slave. There was an increasing need to contain his angel, to make her his once and for all and to never let her leave him again. The wench had escaped him once and Morte would ensure that such a thing would never happen again. Jaws unhinged, hanging and menacing as strings of saliva dripped and threaded between upper and lower, salmon oral muscle slipping forth to drag across jagged weaponry and blackened lips. The sweet scent of his angel was tantalizing, and it took every ounce of control that he had to keep from tearing through the snow to devour her.

The gentle twitch of her own kissers could be seen, moving silently to form the name that she could not speak. In flashes, he could see her as he moved between the trees, watching as she struggled to come to grips with what she was truly seeing, the fear and pain etching itself across her face in a clear and beautiful display. Sickly glee at this spread through the man, delight at her pain. Morte wondered if she still believed in those foolish gods she had spoken of in their brief past encounter. Such foolishness was that - there were no gods for her. They were false idols, ones that she put blind faith in and foolishly got nothing in return. Nothing but the haunt of the demented bastard, the man who could not quiet the whispering voices in his mind. The man who saw her as his and would kill her just to savor her - would kill her to keep another from having her. Oh, how beautiful that alabaster pelt would look stained with the crimson liquid of her body. The heart of the woman would make a fine adornment.

Yet, the thought sent panic through him as well. Time away from his angel had been a living hell, a thing that had torn him apart from the inside out and had left him a demented and twisted mess of the already sickened devil he was. It had only caused him to descend further into madness. He certainly could not endure such a thing again. No, he would leave her alive, leave the blood in her veins and her heart beating in her chest for he needed her. He was unable to live without her at this point. And as he drew near, the flurries of snow sticking to that obsidian coat, breath curling up in wispy and frigid tendrils, he knew. The wicked laughter cascaded from him again, head tilting to one side slightly as he gazed upon that pure frame with a gaze of pure fire. Demented simper twisted grotesque lips into a haunting grin as the titanous demon halted only feet from the babe.

He could sense the insecurity within, the fear that flowed from her pores and tainted the air about her. Despite the resolve that held her body tight, that settled over her and kept her from quivering, Morte was not fooled. Any would be terrified to come face to face with him more than once - and he knew that she was just that. Terrified. Shaken to the core by his presence and my, how it pleased him. With a wet click, his jaws parted once more and deep tones called forth for her, like a haunting lullaby, ?I knew I would find you again. I told you I would. You can not escape me, Caede - no matter how far you go.?


"speech!"