Bloodred LainThe sunlight was fading fast through the small basement window, leaving only a weakened beam to illuminate my bloodied legs, glistening and wet from my weeping wounds. I could no longer feel the sun's warmth, only the searing ache of my butchered flesh. The small, bleak room reeked of death, a fate from which I was the only exception.
The damp stone walls were spattered with layers of blood, each dried upon the next to form a thick, rust-toned crust, and the filthy floor was strewn with fragments of bone and indecipherable remains which marinated in a stew of dark fluids. The rank odor of rot and suffering permeated the stale air, an air which felt haunted by an undeniable heaviness, as though the souls of those who perished here could never truly escape this hellish, makeshift prison. I pitied them, I truly did.
Unlike me, they had not chosen this fate.
My head hung almost lifelessly, my body occasionally tensing with involuntary pangs of great pain as I wheezed and coughed up blood through ragged breaths. This afternoon he had taken from me his pound of flesh, cutting deep into each of my thighs to extract his next meal. Blood had overflowed the chair to which I was bound, and now pooled beneath me, soaking my feet and seeping outward all around me to coat the floor with a fresh layer.
Despite this, I did not struggle in my bonds, though my wrists were roughly bound by coarse rope, and so too my ankles. I never would, for I could not die. But I could suffer, just as strongly as I could love. And for this love, I would suffer anything.
I had met him in the summer, a captivating, charismatic man with an intoxicating way about him. I remember it fondly, how he looked at me with hungry eyes, taking in all of me with an eagerness unlike any I had known before. His desire was raw, palpable even, as though he could already taste me. My pure heart whispered warnings, urging me to flee the darkness before me, but I would not. In the presence of great evil, I was enraptured, both fascinated and ensnared by his beguiling charm. I knew what he was even then, but I did not care, for I loved him already.
WIP, to be continued.
Credits
Profile:
Opal Story/Art:
Opal Background: pexels.com
