The serenity of violence
The thought of love felt like a plague. A dark fog so wide and dense that if it ever swept over her she would surely drown inside of it.
The only thing she knew was death. The only thing she desired was your pain.
Killing was easy. Simple. Natural.
She hid her darkness well. Masked it in intrigue. Gently covered with brush strokes of sensuality and need.
“Save me” she would whisper in their ear before wrapping her delicate hands around theirs. Empowering as she imprisoned. Making lambs feel as lions until the moment of slaughter.
Plucking them from this world for nothing more than her amusement. To quell her boredom. To quench her thirst.
She did not pick the hills purely for privacy. It did afford her the necessary isolation, so don’t think that it was without note. But her reason was the calm. The quiet.
The screams were pure here.
She could close her eyes and hear nothing but her heart beat, and theirs fading away. She could taste their souls slipping into the vastness of eternity. She could breath in their fear. Drink their terror.
The hills were her only lover.
She fead on their pain, and the hills their flesh.
They loved in a way you will never understand.
In a way you can never accept.
In a way you will always hate.
But love they did.
And love they always will.
