The taint of velvet stands dormant on my fingertips. The girl lays lifeless in my arms, a reminder of how fragile these bodies are. Paper flesh. Glass bones. Rigid. Breakable. She's been missing for weeks. Her family's struggling with the loss. They insist she'll be back.
"She always comes back... she's run away before- but she ALWAYS comes back!"
Sorry, Mrs. Johnson, your daughter's gone for good.
This used to be a hair salon back in the 20s. Since then it's been everything from a 7/11 to a whorehouse (come to think of it, there isn't much difference...) But now... now it's just an empty box. Lined with cobwebs and rat's nests, no one's been in here for decades. No one except predator and prey...
No blood. A mirror at her side. She's always been known for her beauty, her vanity. Blonde wisps of hair cover her neck- cover her wounds. Teeth wounds. Claw marks on her arms. Bruises. No blood. A hot, sweet breeze caresses my bare back. The feel of fluttering wings and the scent of hungry fangs. The succubus Queen: Judge of the Underworld. She harvests the lives of young girls to keep her soul alight- a licking flame af hate and sizzling jealousy.
The succubus rises, baring her fangs. The demon's red eyes gleam in the gunfire. *brakka! brakka! brakka!* of my automatic fire. In one clip, the goddess of lust lies dead in a pool of the blood she's stolen from countless beauties laid to rest. May they finally find peace.
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