Shrouded in the silky shadows around her, she waited for an unsuspecting soul to cross her path. The night was her guise, her camoflauge. Her face retreating further into the heavy black hood of her cloak, she licked ruby lips in anticipation. There was only a silvery sliver of moon up above, an eye only partially opened to witness the horror which would take place tonight.The wholly inadequate amount of light couldn't seem to penetrate the inky darkness of the alley she was perched in wait. Who would it be? Some drunken patron stumbling on the route home, or one of the girls who stood in the alley as a consequence of their chosen profession? Hellinka cared not, as long as her dagger could yield pliable flesh, could sunder the beating heart of the victim that appealed to her blade.It was almost like a living extension of her, an entity forged into metal of her most sinister fantasies.It hungered for bloodshed as much as she.
To her, it was a beautiful tool in which she could wreak the sweet musics of destruction. She would become the conductor of an orchestra alive with the sounds of pain, their screams but a wonderful crescendo to the morbid overture that would be produced of such blood lust. The sharpness, the scent of blade biting the flesh of one's throat, of the threads of the sanguine substance that decorated one's throat like their most cherished baubles, caused ecstasy to well up within her. It was almost too much to bear, and early in her trade she had often succumbed to a lack of self control. Her own screams rang out into the night, causing for whispers of the supersticious townsfolk of some supernatural predator that haunted the alleyways to fall upon the ears of all. She had no unearthly gifts, just an array of knives, small to ridiculously large in size as her arsenal. Hellinka became lost to her thoughts then, just as the tavern let out and easy prey bumbled her way.
As the lantern shed light upon yet a new horror, a grisly depiction of one's twisted thoughts were alivened upon the walls of her dank imprisonment. Secrets which would never see past the labrinthian mind, were betrayed in the form of a scene of the atrocity one could do with idle hands. The lamplight flickered and then was extinguished, as if the candle wished to spare her of enormity she was about to behold with a cerulean gaze. The shroud of darkness would not allow her to see the ensanguined walls, but but her ears were not deafened to the steady drippage of the fresh splatters all around her. As she stepped cautiously, fingers riding the air current blindly, she felt the sticky splashes of what she could only imagine to be the the end product of a releasing of one's vital fluids upon the floor. The fetid stench of freshly decaying entrails seemed to permeate the stale air,her hearing attuned to the sound of wet plopping upon the earthen carpet she now stood upon. She felt itchy, as if the diseased stench itself was enrobing her. What happened here?
Without her sight, she could only hear and feel the portrayal of gore which now seemed to be fertilized of the emotions, closing in on her.Walls that were distant were now entombing her. The acrid taste of vomit surged up her delicate throat, screams were like fingers strumming a tune upon her vocal chords like a cacophonic melody on a long forgotten lute. Malignant veins fueled of rancid,clotted blood seemed to slither toward her, as if to bind her feet in place. Then they would start a slow ascent toward her torso and upper extremities, a mass of oozing fetor twisting and wrapping about her like living tendrils. She was now rooted to the middle of the room, the shedding remnants of long decomposed offal falling upon her like shriveled leaves of Autumn. The pulsing mass had reached her mouth, branches of a sinewy substance had begun to stitch her eyes and lips closed.
The world was shut away, she was alone with her thoughts. She relived the voices, the taunting whispers silkily lapping at her ears. It was like music. Suddenly the vessels of her own plagued inner vision struck her like fanged mouths, congealed liquids of lifeblood seeping down her cheeks and chin as she struggled against the substance that blinded and silenced her. Something in her mind was broken, something that was still repairable. She could simply dispel the thoughts at any time. She didn't wish to. The house, architected of her dark fantasies had done her bidding for a long time. There would be evidence of rotting limbs strewn across the floor like some sort of morbid decoration, fecal aromas of recently loosened intestines falling from divided flesh. The tortured bodies were suspended like marionettes, in a still levitation above the ruddy, blood soaked earth. Some were affixed to the walls in an act of crucifixion, hollowed bodies displayed for the world to view. She was the mother cyst, the living subjects would cease to breathe at her very whim. Listless husks of men were asphyxiated, the wicked tendrils encircling their necks until the sound of broken spines could be heard, constricting air and bloodflow until the permanent severing of life from their bodies.
Others were drawn and quartered, useless limbs dangling about as if they were forever immortalized as part of her sinister structure. If she bidded so, the anethema of her own design would forge razors of its flesh, and she would orchestrate them to act in sometimes a surgical precision to extract the bodily fluids, or flay flesh from bone. Other times her mind was distracted from the screaming and bubbling of blood from the throats of her playthings, and this would cause her to become enraged. The razor tentacles would react to this, becoming an outlet for her sheer ferocity. Enucleated heads would be discarded to the floor, an eye or two pitched toward the walls with enough force to make them explode on impact. The jelly housed within would leak down the walls like a coat of wet paint. Skulls were crushed and the brain within fed upon, as her horrible imagined doll house would gain the memories of the subjects and become more sentient with each victim.
Her heaven hued eyes opened to behold a new world, soggy, blonde tendrils clinging to her cheeks in a most uncomfortable fashion. A few people looked her way in disgust, as she slowly traveled the cobblestone path that would lead to the hovel she currently resided in. What sort of wicked things had transpired as she had fallen to somnolence? As she had no control of her body? When she had awoken, the area around her was littered of strewn pences, gifts from those that had mistaken her for a mere beggar. She took them without a second thought, for coin was hard to come by.
Each small step Hellinka Darknau took upon the path would resound in the stagnant stillness of the night, pebbles stirred up of the vibrations of ambulatory motions were kicked away from her boots. She was rather disoriented, hungered for a warm meal and a strong intoxicant which would dispel those visions for a little while, the acrid bite of whiskey would overpower the tinge of copper on her tongue. Her muddled mind mulling over the gruesome images of a reverie which seemed all too vivid, she suddenly succumbed to a strange feeling, leaving her fallen upon a knee.
It felt like a pulse, a powerful throbbing shook the visions from her head. Her veins writhed and stung beneath her skin, as if her crimson cruor had turned to wine, a foreign substance flowing throughout her body. Her very life blood seemed to echo, beckoning her kin whom was in her vicinity, unbeknownst to her. She was brought up believing that she was an only child, the remaining members of her family perishing of disease, or other misfortunes which befell the lot. Her parents were purged of their ails with fire, as the ones governing the city did not wish plague to run rampant, to blight the agriculture and livestock, sparing the community of sickness was to be at the bottom of the list.
She grew up in a relatively rich society, her father spoiling her with toys, clothing, and whatever else she could imagine. Whatever she desired, it would be provided. Her dainty form now prostrated, she clutched the sapphire bauble which adorned her bosom. She would collect herself moments later, her left cheek sootied by streaks of dirt. Her hand snaked out toward the door handle, fingers closing about it hesitantly. It contained imprints of the individual, and she could instantly see through his eyes, and became overly sensitive to his emotions at the moment.