Florence had been unusually silent for most of the journey from the woods into town. She had whispered with Cleo, of course, but they'd both avoided my gaze. I couldn't deny I was embracing this change; there was so much more to appreciate when we believed we could hear perfect silence. I can notice the subtle breaths they were taking, lined with slenderness and patience.

My prey had been whistling - not incredibly surprising as I'd taught him to do so when he felt even the slightest semblance of defiance or bravery. It has been on and off throughout driving through the city - and when he stops, I can briefly hear him taking deep breaths.

I remember the first time I'd driven through this city with a man in the back; I'd had to sedate him and it was a terrible business. The morphine I'd injected him with had mixed with his Atarax and his nerves got the better of him - making it incredibly difficult to heave him through the rooms of my home - even with the help of my companions. He dripped blood all over my new wooden floor, ruining multiple rugs and forcing me to burn my favourite duvet set. He was dead the next morning - which was a terrible shame, if only because he had such loving eyes.

My eyes darted to and from the pavement; noting the faces of the drunk and promiscuous lining the streets. I take in the five-inch heels and the tight-fitting dresses on the women displaying their assets just right, and the groups of men with alcohol-swayed walks, and mutter to myself how thankful I was it was a Saturday night, and the town was alive enough to ignore the events of my night.

I can only imagine these men will take advantage of these women - with violence and corruption being such prominent aspects of this town it was an inevitable truth. A woman could just be passing by an alleyway and be swept up in a small group. Women in heels cannot hope to run away from a determined assault, after all. Her friends would be blissfully unaware until they found out she'd been missing a few hours later. It's possible that they turn up alive and well the next day but other times they aren't so lucky. A fact I could call a driving force.

"Miss Angelina, do you suppose, at some point..." Florence began hesitantly, interrupting her conversation with Cleo; much to her confusion. I raise my hand to her and put my finger to my lips. There were red lights ahead of me, and a group of people surrounding the street, and this van wasn't keen on keeping conversations inside while it was immobile. "Miss Angelina, I was only going to ask if I could... If we could go into town tomorrow night. Shan't you be done by then?" In that brief pause, I recalled the reason behind her request—I had a habit of insisting on accompanying her whenever she left the house.

I reach for the dashboard in front of me and retrieve a pack of cigarettes. I extend the open lid towards Florence, who declines with a polite shake of her head. However, Cleo eagerly seized one and placed it between her lips. I shrug, withdrawing one for myself, placing it between my lips, and tossing the pack towards Cleo. She takes the lead, collecting a lighter from her pocket, and snapping open the lid.

I eye up the yellow traffic lights, then glance up at the luminous sky. I decide it's gone past midnight as I roll the cigarette along my lips. I see the bright spark from the lighter as Florence holds it out towards me, turning to see her almost mesmerised by the beauty of the light. Reluctantly, she offers it to Cleo first, maintaining eye contact with me. Cleo leans in eagerly towards the flame, disregarding Florence's lack of will.

"Do you prolong their deaths because you're shortening yours, Miss?" Her gaze had shifted from mine. I grimace at the starkness of the question, closing my eyes tightly for a moment. She clamps her lips shut, staring out the front window, guilt evident in her trembling frame. "Forgive me if I've overstepped, Miss Angelina, I don't mean to be out of line. I wish to understand you," I take the lighter from her fingertips, briefly letting go of the wheel to light the cigarette myself. With an impulsive motion, I snap the lid shut again with a resounding click.

"You're quite curious tonight, Florence. It's only natural, I suppose," I say, placing one hand back on the wheel and observing the stubborn red lights ahead. I roll down my window, earning a curious glance from Cleo. Opening the window was a rare occurrence; I typically allowed the smoke to fill the car without protest but I couldn't bear another lecture from the younger girl tonight. Despite the age difference, Florence had taken it upon herself to care for me in this way—breathing clean air being one of her gentle reminders. Watching over me is something Florence does quite well.

"Perhaps when I finish with this one –" I motion to the back of the van, a frown replacing the smirk that had been painted on my face. I heaved out the smoke from my lungs, watching it fly away like it had no care in the world; vanishing into the empty air as quick as it had arrived, "- We can go into town and find someone for you to play with Florence."

For now, I didn't want another plaything. I didn't want to start my game of manipulation and ruin for at least a short while. I craved a period free from killing. If anything, I wanted to test if I could distance myself from that growing urge, at least until my mind healed. The more I contemplated it, the more I entertained Cleo's viewpoint—I might have become too lenient with these men.

From that moment on, I struggled to focus, and I don't recall either of them responding. Moreover, I don't think Florence even considered my words long enough to give them a second thought. She was eagerly embracing my promises of a night of freedom, and she wouldn't let me forget it anytime soon.

I did wish for Florence to practise on her own kind of man - the type she preferred. The type that would stop her in her tracks when he stepped into view. In her current state, she was far too delicate to corrupt a man, but in the same regard, cold, heartless women cannot seduce them either. I hadn't yet taught her the middle ground —how to allure and corrupt, how to dismantle a man's pride and thieve what you desire from the wreckage.

It wasn't until I'd parked the van and touched the grounds of my manor, that I realised how ready I was to end the boy's life. When I considered my type of man, and who I desired to burn down - this prey was an amalgamation of everything I used to desire to conquer. It had been weeks since my last kill and I could feel the rising bloodlust - the hunger that simmered inside of me, waiting for my self-control to slip away.

"Angelina, where have you been all this time?" I hear footsteps crunching on the path as I step away from the van, my heel grinding into the stones. Rolling my eyes has become almost reflexive whenever I hear deep, gravelly voices. Over time, I've grown somewhat accustomed to the presence of my troubled childhood friend in my life, but it's still challenging to stay positive amidst their harsh tones.

I avoided staring at the blonde man who'd stormed to my side but I couldn't help but hold my stare as I noticed his rough appearance; his long hair thrown into a bun - his neck tattoo more apparent in this style, and his usual suit replaced by a plain t-shirt and trouser combination. He'd clearly heard the van and hurried out.

"Calm down, Luke," Cleo had muttered.

If my love for Luke hadn't been evident since our childhood days, perhaps he wouldn't still be breathing. Yet, as we speak, he breathes softly, gazing absentmindedly at the van, a hint of patience in his demeanour.

Luke had shown great sympathy for my struggles and eventually embraced our macabre tasks of ending lives. After his brutal actions toward his uncle, or what he called his last 'guardian,' with my assistance, he eagerly continued in our shared endeavours. Initially, I found it odd that he would inflict such harm on his relative until he confided in me about the years of abuse and vigorous beatings he endured. During their annual fishing trip, I equipped him with the tools and drugs necessary to eliminate the man. I think he had ended up quite thankful for an opportunity, nay, reason to turn to this option.

He then crafted a heartfelt letter to his family, explaining his sudden departure as a desire to explore the West. With no immediate family of his own, the rest of his relatives accepted the story without question. Months passed without any inquiries, and by then, it was too late for anyone to raise suspicions.

"I was collecting some products that I'd misplaced – or should I say, you misplaced?" I retorted bitterly. I had been sorting through the files strewn around my office until Luke barged in, confessing to his latest blunder. His lack of oversight was a rare slip for someone typically so vigilant. I was determined to rectify the situation quickly and brought Florence along after some gentle begging from the girl.

"You forgot to instruct the boy not to run off, Angelina," I paused, gathering my thoughts. As I absentmindedly traced patterns on the grimy van door, a shiver ran through me. The layer of muck on it was thick, but it didn't deter me from etching a swirling blue pattern. My gaze shifted to Luke, who had circled me and was now making his way towards the back of the van.

"He shouldn't have needed to be taught – They've never run away before," Florence suggested and kept her eyes trained on my roaming fingers. I turn away from her and track my eyes onto the collapsed body of the boy, who was slung over Luke's broad shoulder. I hadn't realised how small he was.

"Nonsense, Florence," I proclaimed loudly, ensuring everyone could hear me. I could hear Luke's laughter and couldn't help but roll my eyes with a touch of cynicism. Florence, in my view, was far from ready for either romance or confrontation. She still seemed fragile and irrational to me.

I knew I'd have to convince Luke to mentor her; my attention was already consumed by other endeavours. Luke tended to bring home women, often blondes but occasionally brunettes. They always exuded charm with their bright eyes and dazzling smiles, dressed impeccably with cute outfits and stylish heels. However, none of these alluring women suspected what awaited them. Lust, I've observed, can cloud even the sharpest minds in humanity.

"Both of you stop your strife. The boy is back now, and I must do my duty," My voice cut through the tension as Luke stood by my side, observing my defeated gaze wandering the garden. Their ignorance, always quick to judge my methods and choices in men, wearied me. To them, each man was merely a weak, gullible pawn, blind to their unique traits—their way of speaking, listening, and connecting physically. They failed to comprehend. Perhaps that's the divide between them and me.

"Will you be able to Miss Angelina? This boy is different." Florence had murmured. The air caught in my throat as I turned to face her, her persistent questioning stirring turmoil within me. Despite loving her as my own, her outspokenness tested my resolve. If she were any other, her lips would have been chopped off and in a jar by now.

"If you please, Luke, could you take him up yourself? I believe he'll stay asleep until I wake him," I called out to Luke, who had been slowly creeping up the yard, and into the house. I hear him cough once in confirmation, in a blatant attempt to keep the boy asleep. I didn't need to go out of my way to drag him back. Florence had moved her hand to my arm and was slowly digging her nails in frustration.

"Miss Angelina." She speaks softly, with caution embedded deep in my name.

"Florence, I've had quite enough!" I felt like screaming at the girl; her daisy scent had transformed into violent roses. Her complexity has caused me to feel isolated inside of myself. I can feel the tears brewing and turn away from her with violent force. "This boy is no different from any other, and he shall end the same way," I managed a softer tone, stepping back from her, and my feelings of defeat drift back.

"Miss Angelina, please be careful. I worry for you, and it's beginning to take over all of my thoughts. I don't wish for you to get caught, and perhaps that is because we are all knotted in your plots, but I adore you, Miss Angelina. How could I live without you being careful?" Florence took hold of my hand firmly, squeezing four times before releasing me.

"I've gone this long Florence; I admire your courage to speak against my actions. I have a great deal of affection for you." I tolerate my word choice and step away from her, wiping the new forming tears in my eyes. My vision has gone slightly blurry, but I continue onwards into the house. I feel Florence skipping behind me, cautiously staying a few feet behind. I turn once more, and smile deviously, "Stop your worry, I am safe, and you are safe."

I start to undress walking up the winding staircase and throwing my shoes over the edge. I'd need to remind myself to buy new walking boots, after trekking for a few hours in them. The red velvet rug on the staircase was caressing as always but had become frayed at the edges. The stains of blood were long gone, but I could still see and smell them even if they were absent for others.

Confidence surged through me as my dress slipped from my shoulders as I reached the door, the anticipation of the inevitable encounter building. I knock on the door of his room and hear a squeal of delight from inside. I groan and grit my teeth at the anxious regret concoction inside of me. Why didn't I want to do this?

Entering the dimly lit room, I noticed the subtle preparations—a soft glow from the dark cherry candles dotted around the room causing a glorious glow to envelop the room. The boy gives me a longing look filled with ache as I inspect the ropes securing the boy; a double knot is used on each one. Luke's intentions were clear; this was a collaboration of darkness we shared. His silence spoke volumes as I approached and crawled my way onto his waist, straddling him there, and allowing his eyes to wander over my body, which was only covered by my lingerie – his favourite lingerie at that. I keep in the choking sound wanting to escape my mouth.

Was their anger in his eyes? No, not this time. Yet it was a rage that pulsed through my veins; it was the fury I felt before the death of every man. It was something that took over me when I was in control. My sweetness, my love, my humanity and significantly my trust were tarnished, and this was my only outlet of emotion. This was their final act of joy before being cruelly yanked from existence, and I took such pleasure in it.

I took an ice cube from the tray placed beside the bed. It was always pulled from the cupboard in each room to the bedside before I could make my way onto the bed. I smirked, as I dropped it lightly onto his hip, and watched it fall slowly down to his inner thigh. He tried to move his hands to push it off but instead moaned in pleasure, an after-effect of realising he was powerless yet again.

"I told you not to moan unless I instructed it." I gasped in his ear with a sultry tone that caused him to heat up. He studied my blood-red lips that were soft and ready to be kissed, and his eyes rolled back slightly in agony. His eyes had gone from a warm brown to a charcoal black, which had formed from the desire to touch her.

"Mistress?" he whispered, with the hitching of cold stuck in his throat, as it had her before. I lean down and bite his thigh, causing him to squirm even more.

"Did you miss this, baby?" I smirk with confidence that always seemed to lose its way when she left this room and the many others like it in the house.

"What are you going to do, Mistress?" I wink, and sober myself up, before leaning towards his mouth and licking his bottom lip. I grind back onto his crotch, and he jolts upwards and then leans into the mattress. He let out a groan, and I could feel the shock in the noise. I'd never tried to be rough, always sweet, until the very end. I grip his throat, and slide a finger into my mouth, looking directly into his eyes. I grip his hair, pull it towards me and let him kiss me softly until he starts demanding more from it.

I rip the buttons off of his shirt in a rush and place my hands on his stomach. His eyes dropped down to my lacy underwear, and he howled with yearning. The sight of me was already making him quiver. He couldn't handle me, and I knew it.

"Why can't I have you, Mistress?" He moans, and he hangs her head back in glee. For an innocent fool, he was somewhat dirty, and as a personal preference, I was beginning to wish I'd brought a gag for the boy; even if his moans were a joy to listen to.

"Mistress, please." I shook my head at his disobedience to the no-talking rule. I pick my favourite toy up, and slide it onto his stomach for the moment, before lowering myself down and pulling the zipper down on his jeans. I can feel the buzzing on his stomach as I remove his jeans. He's bucking his hips in deep need.

I want to give him what he needs. This is what he deserves.

majime - an earnest, reliable person who can 

simply get things done without causing drama.