II.
"What have I done to you?" A horrified Cecilia cried out, crawling frantically across the floor, trying frantically to get away from the emotionless knife-wielding huntress who just dragged her off the lavish bed by her sunlight-streaked hair. "I don't even know who you are!"
"I hate girls like you," Sapherin said, voice dripping like molten steel. "Girls who fuck other girl's beloved while they're looking away." She gave another good hard tug on Cecilia's goldspun hair. "I bet it's a game, huh? One goddamned game? Was that all you thought about it? A game?!" Her eyes blazing, she kicked Count Vicenzio's incentuous niece on the face, taking a perverse pleasure as she drew blood.
Cecilia hacked and coughed out blood, doubling over the lush white carpet speckled with scarlet. "I--I..."
"Ha," Sapherin said as she tucked in her knife and pulled out a spare bowstring she kept in her beltbag--her makeshift garrote wire. "You wanna get laid? They'll keep you occupied," the wild-eyed huntress motioned to her two companions to help her haul their mark back to the bed.
Blaise and Lycaon, both assassins who kept themselves in the shadows of the candle-lit room until Sapherin beckoned for them, swung the hapless girl back on to the bed, holding on to all her four limbs in such a way that she was spreadeagled across the bed.
"Now, Lady Vicenzia," Sapherin said sweetly as she tied up Cecilia's hands and feet to the four bed posts using her stock of bowstring/garrote wires, "I advise you not to move too much unless you want your hands and feet torn off from the stumps."
Cecilia whimpered.
"Now boys," she said as she watched the two assassins undo their belt buckles. "Do yer stuff."
===
Valeur stopped by the door of the pub, the blazing pink of the neon sign reflecting on his face like a garish pink gash. Somebody had told him, he was not sure who, that this was the place to be when suffering from lovesickness. He thought that it was an absurd and almost comical idea, going to a edgier singles club, but a friend had told him that it was quite therapeutical just hearing the sullen club owner drone on and drone about loving and getting hurt, and about how evil that thing called "love" was...
Shaking his head resignedly, Valeur decided to humor his cousin Fontaine's wishes to join in on the 'therapy'.
"I hate girls like you," Sapherin said, voice dripping like molten steel. "Girls who fuck other girl's beloved while they're looking away." She gave another good hard tug on Cecilia's goldspun hair. "I bet it's a game, huh? One goddamned game? Was that all you thought about it? A game?!" Her eyes blazing, she kicked Count Vicenzio's incentuous niece on the face, taking a perverse pleasure as she drew blood.
Cecilia hacked and coughed out blood, doubling over the lush white carpet speckled with scarlet. "I--I..."
"Ha," Sapherin said as she tucked in her knife and pulled out a spare bowstring she kept in her beltbag--her makeshift garrote wire. "You wanna get laid? They'll keep you occupied," the wild-eyed huntress motioned to her two companions to help her haul their mark back to the bed.
Blaise and Lycaon, both assassins who kept themselves in the shadows of the candle-lit room until Sapherin beckoned for them, swung the hapless girl back on to the bed, holding on to all her four limbs in such a way that she was spreadeagled across the bed.
"Now, Lady Vicenzia," Sapherin said sweetly as she tied up Cecilia's hands and feet to the four bed posts using her stock of bowstring/garrote wires, "I advise you not to move too much unless you want your hands and feet torn off from the stumps."
Cecilia whimpered.
"Now boys," she said as she watched the two assassins undo their belt buckles. "Do yer stuff."
===
Valeur stopped by the door of the pub, the blazing pink of the neon sign reflecting on his face like a garish pink gash. Somebody had told him, he was not sure who, that this was the place to be when suffering from lovesickness. He thought that it was an absurd and almost comical idea, going to a edgier singles club, but a friend had told him that it was quite therapeutical just hearing the sullen club owner drone on and drone about loving and getting hurt, and about how evil that thing called "love" was...
Shaking his head resignedly, Valeur decided to humor his cousin Fontaine's wishes to join in on the 'therapy'.
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