Deaths Possession

His deep and buttery soft when it finally comes. Somehow louder than it should be.I blink. "It didn't."Technically a lie. But I'll be damned before I let him think I needed saving. He takes a single step forward, apparently trying his hardest to just be really creepy.He very much looks like he got dropped here by accident. The universe meant to put him in a penthouse, but someone fat-fingered the coordinates.He's tall, so tall and absolutely stacked, muscle on muscle on muscle. In a black suit that had to cost more than my entire life. Shirt crisp, tie straight, shoes somehow untouched by the grime of the Ring. This is the kind of man who should be yelling at someone for getting his order wrong, not walking into my murder alley at midnight on the way to pick up dry cleaning.Everything about him feels… wrong. Not the same as the thing that attacked me. This one's contained. And that's way more dangerous.There's not even a flicker of acknowledgment in my direction. I'm part of the

I've been lay here for four days, hmm, maybe five. Long enough that the mold's grown bold and the rat has stopped checking to see if I'm still alive. They know I'm not a threat anymore, not like this.My squat isn't much. The mattress beneath me is a piss-stained ruin I dragged off a curb two months ago. It smells like old meat, and at some point I stopped caring. The surrounding walls are tagged over in half-dead neon, layers of curses and gang signs competing for dominance. One says "BLEED FIRST" in dried maroon. I took it as advice.My ribs are black from bruises. The hash along my hip has started to turn the wrong color, the kind of red that seeps heat when you press it. I've been rinsing it with warm water from a rusted kettle I stole two blocks over. No meds. No food. Just water and spite and whatever scraps of instinct I've got left.It's not enough. I'm not healing.Dreams are dogging me. Vivid, horrible things, always the same. Me, barefoot and small, wandering through alleys

She's stopped fighting. For now. Her chest rises in uneven little gasps as I hold her there, her pulse a flutter beneath my palm. I could count the beats if I wanted to. Could tell her how many times her heart raced the moment she realized it wasn't just the door that betrayed her, or the window, or the world, but her own body. She's trembling for all the right reasons, and every twitch of muscle makes it harder to think.My cock is already stone, straining against the fine fabric of trousers that cost more than this whole rotting building. I knew she would be receptive, but when I felt that warm pussy throb against my thigh, I nearly blew in my pants right there.It's absurd. Standing here in this rancid hovel, mold bleeding from the walls, a mattress thinner than my patience beneath our feet, and all I can think about is fucking. Making her beg on her knees for my dick, cry for it, until she can't remember what she was before she became mine.I glance around the apartment, if you can

Whatever happens after today, I can forever glow in smug satisfaction that I've worn the ghost of a path in this rug, which is probably really expensive. Granted, it's because I've been pacing so long, but it's worth it.Or was it already there? Maybe some other poor sap of a girl wore the same track. Another one who thought she could fight her way out of this place with a little stubbornness and a bad attitude.Spoiler: she's probably bones now.Getting dressed after the bath was an unsettling experience. Not only because the clothes are soft and pricey, but because they fit me perfectly. I chose black skinny jeans, a black hoodie and soft-soled black leather boots. Perfectly reflects my mood.Shit they feel good. I feel good in them.There's no clock here, so time has lost all meaning. I searched for a phone, tablet, TV, any technology, nothing. Just four grand walls, a heavy-ass bed, a bathtub that could fit three of me, and time. Endless, silent time. The more I move, the more I re

The second my foot crosses the threshold, the world stops making sense.I stumble, blinking hard as the air thickens into a taste deliciously viscous and golden. It’s not a slap of sensation, it’s warm syrup being poured over my skull, dripping into every crack in my skin. Coating and seeping until my knees nearly buckle.Because it’s not just light or scent or sound. It’s all of it. All at once. Everything is more. More color, more breath, more life. The air has weight here, that cradles rather than crushes. I inhale and it’s rain and ripe fruit older than memory.It’s a garden. No, that’s not right. Calling it that is calling the ocean a puddle.This isn’t rows of tomatoes and ceramic frogs in sun hats. This is creation unleashed.The flowers loom, towering like gods, their heads heavy and swaying. Petals curl in on themselves, ribbon candy dipped in oil, shimmering with colors I have no names for. Mauves that burn gold at the edges, blues so deep they go violet, then vanish. Some s