Dark fantasies offer up a dark pleasure of insidious nature. In fact as the Evil Satanic goddess I am, there is no pleasure stronger than stealing ones life.
The hunt is over. Now comes the Dark fantasies feast—the last drop of life still pulsing through your veins. This Satanic game where I carve my name into your marrow is your destiny.
First off, you’re bound, broken, bleeding across the concrete. Therefore, I kneel beside you to taste that final shudder.
So, I drag the flat of my blade across your chest. ultimately, painting a crimson stripe from collarbone to navel. Meanwhile, your skin splits with a whisper. Then, the fat and muscle parting beneath the steel. Meanwhile, you gasp, and I catch that sound in my mouth, swallow it whole. As your blood pools in the shallow trench I’ve opened. Now, I press my lips to the wound, drinking deep.
Dark Fantasies of Murder Are Delicious
Then, I find the rhythm of your dying heart—a frantic drumbeat I’ve stolen from your ribs. Essentially, I slide my fingers between the torn flesh, hook them around bone, and pull. With a crack, the echoes vibrate through the alley. Ultimately, your body arches against the ropes. So, I rip the ribs apart like a cage, exposing the wet, glistening organ beneath.
Finally, your eyes roll back, but I slap your face, demanding you witness your own undoing.
After that, I curl my hand around your still-beating heart. It throbs against my palm, hot and desperate, and I squeeze—just enough to make you scream. Now, your blood gushes over my wrist, dripping between my fingers in thick, black-red rivulets. Next, I lean close, let you smell your own death on my breath. “This is the last drop,” I whisper, “the feast I’ve been starving for.”
Depraved Gothic Morticia
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