The Slaughter

Razzle quietly pads down the hallway to the room he shares with Jenevieve and the others. For a larger man he is very nimble on his feet, approaching the door with great caution. He knows he will be in trouble, but it won't be anything he can't handle. Honestly right now it would take something tremendously horrific to break him from his happiness.

He has just had a very passionate affair with a beautiful vampire, Giacinto. Even in his mind her name is smooth like soft cream. This thought makes his stomach rumble with hunger pains. He snickers to himself and creaks the door open very quietly, trying not to disturb whoever is in the room. It's dark so he closes the door softly behind him, his shoes in his other hand so he won't make any noise.

It doesn't really occur to him that vampires can sense more than sound.

The small figure sat on the chair next to her bed. Beside her sat a large suitcase containing her most valuable possessions and most of her attire. It wasn't everything she owned, but it was what she needed in order to be gone for a while. A long while.

The vampire's large chest rose and fell with every heavy inhale and exhale. Her teeth ground together as she sat, brooding, replaying what had happened in her head over and over again.

The longer she had sat waiting for her blood sack to return, the more she had time to reflect on the reality of what had happened, and how horrible and disgusting and humiliated it made her feel.

"Don't find us any longer! Go crawl away like you did before and bury some other bastard between your legs!"

Her blood red eyes flickered in the darkness as Razzle entered the room.

"Where have you been?" She hissed in a harsh tone. Her voice was almost unrecognizable, hardly anyone would have ever heard her sound quiet like this before.

All those who had were long since dead.

He freezes in place, hearing that tone to her voice sends chills up his spine and he isn't quiet sure why. Not only the voice though, but not being able to see her in this dark, confined area, his eyes still adjusting to the lack of lighting. He turns his head to look around, trying to find the direction of where her voice came from.

"I was out baking for Giacinto," perhaps he shouldn't have used her first name so casually, he hopes it won't give much away. His eyes adjust a little more and he can see the outline of Jenevieve and her briefcase.

"Are you going somewhere?" he questions rather innocently, his eyes squinting into the darkness, picking out little details.

"We both are." Was all she simply said, though her tone was still as cold and fearsome as before.

"Follow me, we're leaving." She stated, walking past him and leaving the door. She wanted to be out of the mansion as soon as possible. What would happen if she were to run into that damned vampire again? It had taken every ounce of control she had to not attack him and try to rip him to shreds. And were she to see him again she didn't know if she could hold back this time.

The entire feeling had left her vulnerable, weak in her own eyes. It left her bloodthirsty and infuriated. There would be suffering tonight.

Blood would spill by Jenevieve Gladstone's hand tonight.

The man's brow furrows and he looks at her with a hurt, confused expression, standing in the doorway as she walks from it. He had finally connected with someone who may actually be able to help him, to save him from this enslavement and add a spark back to his life that had been missing for a very long time. He was not about to give that up easily.

"...But I don't want to leave," he says rather sternly, not asking to fight, but just wanting to have a voice in this entire situation. Giacinto had given him a stronger sense of confidence, a stronger will to fight.

This was a big mistake.

Jenevieve was in no kind of mood to tolerate any sort of defiance. What she said was final and that was that.

In one swift move she turned around and struck him across the face, her nails growing to bite in and tear at the soft round flesh on his cheeks.

She hit with enough force that her claws were stained red with his blood, the scratch marks deep on his skin.

"Unless if you want me to neuter you with a searing hot knife like the dog you are, you will do as I say." She sneered, her eyes filled with pure evil.

A woman scorned was not to be reckoned with. Jenevieve was not just a woman, but a monster.

He's caught off guard by the swift sting of her nails, cobalt eyes widening to large, shocked circles. He brings his hand to his face and feels the gashes, the warm trickle of blood running down his soft, round cheek. His eyes flicker over to Jenevieve, a look of anger and hurt resting behind them. He pulls his hand away from his face and the markings slowly start to heal before her eyes.

He follows her reluctantly, walking slow, hoping that they will turn a corner and Giacinto will be there... Her or anyone for that matter. But preferably her. His aching heart throbs hard in his chest as they walk and no one appears. That trapped, imprisoned feeling returns to him, fills his body with fear. He doesn't have that control Giacinto had given him, that was just an illusion, something to numb over the pain of the fever... And now he wouldn't even have that to sooth him.

He follows Jenevieve with his eyes as she walks before him, his own filled with depression and disdain.

Unlike Razzle, Jenevieve was relieved to not run into anyone on their way of exiting the mansion. She had left once before, and now she was wishing she had never come back.

This time she would not return. This was really the end of her life here. To hell with it. To hell with Italy in general. She was going to take Razzle miles from this place, maybe even to a different continent.

They walked for hours on end, hours and hours of Jenevieve stomping and brooding and trying to hold back her tears from spilling over, trying to suppress all the tender feelings she had shared for the mysterious man, for B.

"If you surrender a part of yourself to me I will do the same for you. If you won't abandon me I won't walk away from you."

Was she abandoning him? Or had he abandoned her?

Who was the man who had uttered those sweet genuine words? He wasn't, couldn't have been the same maniacal man that spoke so rudely to her, who demanded her to leave.

If he wasn't then she had left him. She had surrendered a part of herself to him and then abandoned him.

But what other choice had she had? They were both in danger with her there. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if she could have done more.

And all of these thoughts, these what if's and what was, they were driving the woman mad.

Mad with hurt and in turn mad with the helpless infuriation that she felt. She needed to gain control again. She needed to be cold and heartless. Because anything else was just too painful.

She only knew of one thing that could help her feel that way again.

She had to murder someone, to torture them and make them beg and plead for her mercy. And what better person to do that to but the man that Smiley had given her? He would be the perfect vessel for her vengeance and anger.

The two traveled for hours before Jenevieve finally stopped. Where they were she wasn't sure, but it was desolate. No one was around for miles. They were in a thin forest, the trees not thick and clouding. They could see the sky, the beautiful night stars and the half moon illuminated their features to a cold hue.

She had carried her suitcase for the entire walk, not bothering to make Razzle carry it. She didn't trust her belongings with that oaf of a man.

Turning around she stared at him with glaring, cold eyes.

"Undress." She ordered as she bent down to unbuckle her suitcase and pull rope from it.

He follows the woman for as long as she walks, watching her hair swish, wanting to pull it hard so he can maybe escape, but he knows he can't. His breathing gets heavier the longer they go, but he doesn't get to the point of wheezy, just heavy breathing.

He tries to distract himself by thinking of Giacinto and his affair with her, how in sync they were with each other. His ginger hair falls and swishes loosely around his face and shoulders, he's happy he was able to nab his parka on the way out because it is frigid. He follows her across the lifeless landscape, burrowing his face behind the neck of his parka, the fur trim brushing against his rosy cheeks, pink from the cold.

Razzle stops when she stops and looks down when she glares at him. Through all the years, centuries he's lived on this earth, he still feels like a small, vulnerable child when others glare at him with overwhelming anger. He looks the part too. When he hears her say this he looks up at her with a furrowed brow, as though he had misheard her. It was chilly out and it would be so much trouble to go an-... It occurs to him that none of this is really going to matter to Jenevieve so reluctantly begins stripping of his clothes, too busy taking them off to notice the rope coming out of her bag.

The small vampire stood, holding the thin yet sturdy rope in her hands. She watched him undress with a vile sort of satisfaction. Normally nakedness disgusted Jenevieve, unless of course if she was about to copulate with someone.

But in this situation she wanted the man before her to be stripped and broken down to nothing. She wanted to feel that sickenly sweet power of knowing that he, a man, was vulnerable and weak to her.

Without speaking a word she made quick time in getting him tied to one of the trees, his wrists suspended behind his back and his ankles bound. She then took a few steps back to gaze upon him, letting her eyes pierce his helpless and vitreous for an uncomfortable amount of time.

Razzle stood naked, bare to the world and its bitter, stinging cold. He felt exposed, belittled, and ashamed. The woman he had slept with hadn't even seen him this naked and now he stood before a sadistic creature in nothing but his skin. Parts of his body became flushed pink against the cold, his stomach, joints, and genitals for example. The cold also made him shameful of his nakedness for he wasn't relaxed against the bitter air.

He shivers all over as she ties him to the tree and again he feels completely helpless. The fear is clear on his face though in his own way he knows what will be coming to him, he knows much pain is going to ensue. In this moment he hates the woman who stands before him. She is robbing him of his dignity, of his humanness, and she isn't even paying him to do this.

When he's bound to the tree he hangs his head, his amber hair is stringy around his round face, flushed against the wind. He won't give her the satisfaction of seeing the pain in his eyes. He feels dead already.

A smirk made its way to the woman’s thick, crimson lips. She enjoyed seeing him like this. Humans were so disposable to the blood lusting vampire. She had slaughtered so many, and though she had tried to stop herself, in this moment she wasn’t going to hold back.

She had tried to play the humane card, she had tried to stop herself from being what she truly knew she was. A monster. The thing that parents warned their children of at night. The bump in the darkness that makes chills run up and down a person’s spine.

Every time she had tried to deny that and live a noble life, it would lead to nothing but heartache on her part. She was born to kill and cause suffering, and doing anything other would destroy the balance of things. She told herself this as she drew a knife from the belt that hung low on her narrow waist.

The beautiful thing about the man before her was that his life supply would never end. She could kill him over and over and over again, and that thought delighted Jenevieve, her mind sick with the evil that was possessing her broken heart.

A faint breeze stroked the air, causing the white locks framing the vampire’s face to dance in the wind. She took a step closer and ran the sharpened blade down the front of Razzle’s chest, over the top of his stomach. The touch was light enough that it didn’t pierce his skin, instead only leaving a light line on his flesh, like a scratch from a feline’s claws.

The man's face winces hard against the cold, sharp feeling of the blade. He has been placed in the hands of a creature that has reduced him to nothing but meat, fleshy clay to be molded by the end of her knife. His eyes burn in his head with tears, but he won't cry, he won't cry yet. Out of all of the many times he has been killed, throat slashed, drowned, torn apart, this feeling was the worst. He was gaining nothing because in this moment he is nothing.

The flesh of his stomach tightens against his body and his heart throbs harder in his chest, pumping fearful blood throughout his arteries. His head is dizzy, sluggish with the fear of what is to come. The suspense is the worst for him as it has always been. In a last moment of clarity he turns his heavy head up and looks into the vampire's bloody red eyes with his own cobalt eyes, nearly frozen with fear.

"Why are you doing this to me?" He asks with a weakened voice. He looks like a small child brimming with fear, wondering what he did wrong, why this is happening. His body shivers hard against the cold.

Jenevieve had been staring at the tip of the blade when he looked up at her. At first, she did not return his gaze. But eventually her cherry red eyes flickered up and met his large, cobalt hues.

“Why?” She repeated her voice still heavy and thick with the pain that ran through her tainted blood. A snarl came to her face as she wrinkled her nose.

“Because all of you creatures are all the same.” She sneered, pulling the blade back up along his stomach a little deeper this now, just barely grazing into the skin. A thin line of blood followed, and the stench made Jenevieve hunger for more.

“You were a gift he had given to me to protect and now I’m going to tear you apart!” She hissed out, and despite herself tears began to fill in her eyes. She brought the knife up and then brought it down in one swift movement, plunging it into Razzle’s chest.

“I trusted him to keep his damn promises just as he trusted me to keep you guarded.” She said, her voice quivering somewhat as she twisted the blade inside his chest. She shouldn’t have opened her mouth to answer his question, but now that she had she couldn’t stop venting to the man as she killed him.

A quivering gasp escaped the man's mouth as he felt the blade trail up his torso. He tried his hardest to keep his mind focused on her words, but the second he felt the knife enter his chest all thoughts escaped him. Razzle's lips quiver against the cold and his eyes flood with tears. Pain shocks through his torso though a cool sense of numbness from the winter weather seems to drown a fraction of it out of him. Never the less there is still a substantial amount of pain.

His mouth wants to cry out, but all that comes out is a low moan, causing further pain to shoot up into his dying lungs. His hands tighten in the restraints and his body shivers harshly, but they weaken, the pain overcoming him. Tears stream down his cheeks, over the ginger freckles, and around the curves of his down turned mouth. With every beat of his heart more blood escapes him and drips down his chest, the life flowing out of his body like a river of pain.

All though the woman was small, she had a lot of strength from her supernatural power. She twisted the blade, carving it against the large man’s chest. His blood glistened in the moonlight as it ran down his chest, staining the porcelain handle of the blade and Jenevieve’s pale fingers.

She worked the blade in a circle around Razzle’s heart. Dropping the knife she clawed at the cut up flesh, letting it fall to the ground in sickening, wet sounding thumps. It was then that she let her eyes gaze upon the man’s heart, struggling to beat from within his chest cavity.

By this point Jenevieve’s eyes were wild, and the evil creature taking control of her mind was showing more vividly than before. She thought about a long lost love, she thought about her parents. And then she thought about a new face.

No, two new faces. Because depending on the way he would look at her, Smiley could appear to be like two different people.

Without realizing it Jenevieve’s fangs were bared, her claws exposed and Razzle’s blood stained the front of her dress.

The poor Viking man was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. She had no vendetta against him. When she stared at his failing heart, she did not see his heart, but instead the embodiment of every heart and emotion that ever mattered to her.

She reached up and took hold of the bleeding vessel, sinking her claws into it before tearing it from his chest. The veins and arteries holding it within snapped as they were ripped apart, and even more blood squirted out to stain the gruesome scene.

With a crazed expression she stared at the heart, now failing to beat. As Razzle died before her she tried to let every care she had ever had die with him as well. This was all symbolic to the vampire. With the innocent man’s last breaths he would take with him her longing, her trust, and her heartbreak.

And once he was gone, hanging limply from the binds he had willingly let her tie him in, Jenevieve found she could barely stand. She collapsed before the Viking, cradling his heart still in her hand. From where she had crumpled, his blood slowly dripped down on her, dying the pure white hair a vivid red that would soon crust over into a darker, ugly color.

Tears fell down her cheeks as she tried to hold them back. Even with no one to see her there she didn’t want to cry. So instead she screamed, letting out a shrieking wail that only someone with a depraved mind and broken heart could produce.

The man's body twists in pain as she plunges the knife deeper into his body, wincing and whimpering as he feels pain sear all over his body. He cries out a few times, but less than the average person who gets their heart torn out would. Tears streak down his face and over his chest, cutting through the caked on blood. He can feel the life draining out of him quickly as blood pumps out of his body, as she claws for his heart.

Razzle's body shivers and jolts as consciousness starts to slip away from him, black starts encasing his vision. He finds himself wanting to die fast, wanting to be free from this pain so he won't have to suffer like this. Unfortunately for him it's coming slowly, agonizingly, ripping apart not only his body, but his mind too. He's drowning in his own blood, the shredded remains of his chest leaking into his throat, making it ooze out of his mouth. The blood slows its flow, making the darkness surround him.

Dark red blood trickles down over his limp, naked legs and into the grass, staining it, blanketing it in deep ruby. His appendages begin to turn blue from the cold. Razzle's body is dead once again. He looks like a limp, lifeless rag doll bound to a tree, the only thing moving is the wind when it pushes against his limp amber hair, the curled strands swaying carelessly. Though the man is still dead the hole in his chest starts to slowly close and the heart in Jenevieve's hands begins to diminish in size, but it is very gradual, not instantaneous.

The woman stayed on her knees, cradling the heart much like a mother would cradle a child. It was a vile scene, morbid and dark as the night sky.

Jenevieve's eyes widened slightly as she realized the heart was slowly disappearing in her hands. The immortal would be healed soon, the heart somehow again beating in his body.

Closing her eyes tight the vampire continued to hold to the heart for as long as she could, pressing it to her chest and not caring about the way the blood stained her gown.

With every passing moment she found herself calming. Her breaths were less frantic, her blood losing the boil. Her hands pressed to her bosom as the heart was finally gone. She stared at the blood stained grass before her, her cherry red eyes no longer flickering with hatred.

Instead they were hollow, full of nothing. Nothing was best. No anger, no heart break, no sadness. Just sweet blissful nothing. A strange, senseless smile came to her lips as she heard the man before her start to breath again.

There was no guilt inside her for what she had done to the innocent man.

There never had been before, Razzle was no different.

Sluggishly the breath returns to the dead man. It creeps back into his lungs, down his throat that is raw from the stiff, cold air. The gaping hole in his chest starts to shrink, skin overlapping the bloody hole. Blood trickles down the length of the man's body, over his stomach, crotch, and down his legs.

The body, freshening up with a new life, twitches from time to time against the cold, the new blood filling his veins. It takes awhile for the man to stir and like ever other time he has come out of a particularly gruesome demise, the memories don't fill his brain immediately.

Instead he wakes like a man regaining consciousness after a long night of binge drinking; his body aches, his vision is blurred, he has no recollection of the previous moments he had partaken in. Razzle could feel some dark sickness churning in his stomach, something induced by a mental anguish, for the rest of him was almost near the peak of rebirth, save the blood staining his pale skin.

Tears cascaded down his cheeks out of pain and confusion. A man of infinite pain is not a stranger to tears. His alive cobalt eyes flicker up to look at Jene, but aver themselves away for the memories begin to rush back to him. A wail creeps out of Razzle and pollutes the air around them. This is one of the worst things to happen to the man, and one of the first things that enter is mind was that it was for free. This was a large reason for the anguish he felt and it sickened him.

Jenevieve stood and, her hands still stained with the short viking man's blood, began to untie him from his bondage.

"We will not be returning to the mansion. Ever." She said as she pulled the ropes away, letting them fall to the floor. Her voice was not that of a woman who had just sliced open a man's chest cavity and tore out his insides. She sounded calmer now, more in control of her emotions.

She was insane.

The naked man trembled as her hands drew near to his person once more, fear rattling his bones and heart. The moment he is free from his bonds he collapses onto the cold ground, dirt and bloody leaves painting his new, pasty skin dark red. He can only curl up in defense, his breath shaking as violently as he is, choking out sobs and coughs. He can't speak because the pain is so overwhelming, the mental anguish is too much.

The pathetic viking's hands clutch his breast, grasping the cold skin over his heart, almost checking to see if it's still there. He had lost it, his heart, this woman had taken it and he had felt a gap. She was going to kill him, kill his soul, he could feel it. She owned him and she was going to rip that away from him like the heart in his chest.

Jenevieve stared at Razzle with a blank expression on her face. Her eyes, still swollen from her own tears, had a satisfied gleam within them. A dark smile crept it's way to her lovely face.

This was the way it was supposed to be. This was how she liked it.

Standing over a man, in total control as she watches him curled up on the floor, sobbing like a child.

Were this not so fulfilling to the vampire she would have demanded he get a grip on his composure. But instead she elegantly clasped her feminine hands together and watched him in silence, wondering how long it would take for him quiet down.