Mariam, > Books: horrifying-horror‎ (14)

“Daisy Daisy,” Sanguine murmured in a singing voice; his red eyes narrowed and his hand raised; he cupped Mantis’s chin and tilted his own head back and forth like he was examining him. “Give me your heart to do.”
He grinned wider and pressed his face up against Mantis’s until their noses were touching. Still Mantis didn’t flinch; he watched the chimera intently his movements reduced to only the breath inside of his chest.
“I’m half-crazy…” Sanguine sang in a raspy whisper; his eyes closed, “All for the love… of you.”

Evil?
This made me look at the bad people differently. Maybe they didn’t want to be bad but everyone else kept telling them they were supposed to be bad, so one day they just decided to go with it. In the Disney books all the bad guys have dark clothes or dark fur but it wasn’t their fault they were born that way or that was the clothing they liked to wear. Maybe if Mufasa was nice to Scar and told Scar he could be king on weekends then Scar wouldn’t have killed him.

Here I stood in front of my king, and though he was just a king and a master to so many of our brothers – to me, Silas was more than that. I had seen the mask slip off of his face and had neither been horrified or scared of what I had seen. Because underneath the hatred, the jealousy, and the mania… I saw a man with a sense of humour, patience, kindness, and generosity.
I knew who Silas Sebastian Dekker really was

as he dragged the wire, the line started to weave and curve, until Silas had made a beautiful design complete with a spiral. It looked like a long twisted string of ivy, the little ruby blood droplets gathering in the wound making it look like little roses.
Silas handed Sanguine the wire. “Even in the clutches of the most destructive agony… you can find beauty,”

I am a man in appearance only, inside I feel like an animal most days or the walking corpse of a young boy who had never been shown how to die.

I had to get him to stop. I had to escape from him. But how can I escape from a voice inside of my head? I had nowhere to go, and no one to help me fight. I was trapped with him both inside of this room and inside the cage I had always been locked in inside my head.

“You have a deepness in your eyes that makes a thousand poems spring to my tongue. And a body that tells me I could paint you every day for the rest of my life and still be inspired. I might not know you well but–” He paused; his lips were so pink, so welcoming… “I feel like you’re an old friend who managed to find his way home. How… strange is that?”

Silas watched Sanguine sit on the bed and slowly, without any sharp movements, he sat at the head of the bed with him with his legs stretched out in front. Sanguine sat cross-legged beside him, surprisingly close, and held out his hand for the chip bag.









I laid back down in bed and chuckled when Silas gave me Barry and drew my blankets up over me. “I’m not a child, you know.”
Silas laughed with me, and just to be an ass I suspected, he started tucking me in. “I can still baby you, and you can just deal with it, smartass.” Then he pinched my cheeks. I snorted and made a motion to bite his hand.
“Sleep well, love.”








It was a strange and terrifying sight for Jack to take in. The black-haired chimera, his grey face a mask of solid stone, and his red eyes blazing like two burning cigarettes, slowly approaching the King Who Ended the World like he was Satan himself calling on him to finally answer for his crimes.
Silas wanted to create a demon – and he had indeed succeeded.

“Barry, Barry, give me your heart to do!” I sang to him after I was bored of painting on the walls. “I’m half-crazy, all for the love of yooouuuu.”

The man

The man looked like a ghost in that moment, a phantom, a spectre, something not from this world but yet he was someone who had been in it longer than anyone.

People were not comforted by facts. People were comforted by hope, no matter how false.

He’s strangely aware that the choking cord wrapped around his neck grows warmer with every passing second, absorbing the heat of his body, stealing it away as if stealing his life.

“Most people use shell-shock to describe something instant. An explosive shock in the moment. But that’s not what it is. It’s the combination of dull weariness and constant keyed-up tension that comes with living twenty-four seven in the middle of active warfare. And when you step out of it…” He shook his head. “You don’t fit in the world anymore. You don’t know how to fit in the world.”

His tall, leonine body was just as angular, a poetry of geometry, every cut of muscle a component of feline architecture, all precise edges—yet he moved as water flowed. He was grace cut with diamond edges, lethal and elegant.

Nonetheless, the snap of the gloves against his wrists brought an odd pleasure, as if the tight latex was a choking band snapping around Khalaji’s neck.