19 December 2009


The knife is at his throat.

It's a pretty knife. Actaeon gave it to me. Columbia River Knife and Tool, KISS blade.
KISS is an acronym. It stands for, "Keep it simple, stupid," and this knife is designed to those standards. I like it.
A lot. Actaeon carried it every day before giving it to me, replacing the one Wolf had given me.
He takes good care of his toys- it has a nice, sharp edge, which I am currently holding to Diablo's throat.

Oh he's so pretty like this! His eyes are huge and terrified, welling with silent tears. He's afraid of knives, did I mention that?

Did you know that it only takes one pound of pressure to cut skin, boy?
No, Ma'am, he whimpers. I didn't know that.
So articulate! Clearly, I'm not doing my job.
I shift my hold on the blade, a movement USB taught me, so that the tip of the blade- sharpest point of a knife- is pressed tightly under his chin and he keens in terror.
It would be so easy to shove it home, sheathe the hard steel in his warm, yielding throat.
Nope, no Freudian thoughts there.
Holding the blade steady, thinking hard about the consequences of shoving the blade home, putting the leash back on my psychopathic side.
Just the knife, just the boy.

His eyes are filling with tears again, which he stubbornly blinks away. He won't cry in front of me, not yet.
I can have his blood, but not his tears.

We'll fix that soon enough....

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I am just your ordinary average every day sane psycho supergoddess