A Nest of Corpses.
“Sickness, insanity and death were the angels that surrounded my cradle and they have followed me throughout my life.” - Edvard Munch.
“Pretty lights glimmer, glimmer for me little specks; sing for mamma.” Goldie cooed to the spiralling whirlwinds of dust motes that filled the air around her, the makeshift fairy lights she had wrapped around her bed posts lit up like the stars outside of her window.
She wasn’t your average twenty-something year old, she didn’t go to the mall with her friends or go on family vacations, Goldie was.. Well, she was what the judgemental folks of a toxic, brainwashed society would call “crazy”. Goldie held one of the tiny bulbs in her hands, bringing it closer to her yearning gaze in a pincer like grasp. “Where are they? Everybody leaves. Everybody always leaves.” Her scrutiny flickered toward the window, her temper flaring perilously as she grabbed the tool she so heinously used to slaughter the women scattered around her room at the brothel, several of the beauteous corpses laid beneath her like a nest of bloody homicide, her slender legs draped over the greying torso of a dainty blonde whose throat she had slit open with a meat cleaver in one of her rages; she brought her blade down hard into the empty eye socket of another of her dearest companions bereft of life.
The moths were what kept the deranged, flaxen haired girl docile. She loved them all: the Utetheisa Pulchella, the Orange Swift, the Lunar Hornet Clearwing.. She loved them all but her favourite had always been the most delectable of all - the Death’s-Head Hawkmoth. The winged reaper of her beloved insects, so to speak. She loved the glossy, black gossamer like wings the creature had and the way they fluttered in the dimmed light of the dusky twilight; this was why she made her own. The only difference being her wings were weaved out of the silkiest, onyx human hair, the skull out of platinum blonde and sewn to her own ivory flesh with transparent fishing line.
The blonde ran her hand threw the matted auburn tresses of her earlier conquest, her eyeballs hanging from a dreamcatcher above Goldies bed. That were the main reason Goldie didn’t have many regulars - she liked to wear their lower intestines like a drag queens boa; she lived for the addictive thrill of the kill.
The auburn girl had been rich, dressed in a rare Dolce and Gabbana lace dress, her heels red bottom Louboutins with straps that buckled just above her ankle bone, she had been tempted to Goldie’s domain by frisky whispers of conquests past; her eyes were what had really transfixed the dainty psychopath, they had been the brightest blue she had ever seen, a shine of simpering fear combined with a lust for adventure - a lust for her - dancing in her cerulean irises. That was why she had kept them.
The moths had been there then, soaring around recklessly into the burn of the bulbs and candle flames around the boudoir of felony and bloodshed. The damsels that Goldie kept alive were always like her, always reciprocating her love of the macabre and not minding having their pussies eaten amongst the maimed madames and common whores with more money than sense that piled around her bed and lay strewn naked and sullied on her mattress. The ones that died? They screamed. They screamed louder; fretfully, the noises they made were always too much for Goldie and the last hope the victim had were when her accomplices flew away.
She had beckoned to the redhead with a single finger to come closer, the villains hazel eyes locked on her sufferer, like a lioness glowering at her prey. She came, they always did, once they caught a glimpse of the wings - of the faux innocence that seeped from the corneas of the clinically insane - that was when they couldn’t walk away. That was when they followed mindlessly to the vixen that would bring them to their demise; almost like a moth to a flame.
The chic socialite ambled closer, her eyes never leaving Goldie's, not even for a second to look at the dead that adorned her walls like artwork at The Louvre. Transfixed to her lithe, winged form, she perched on the edge of the bed - you could almost hear her heart pounding in its boney sanctuary, almost exploding right out of her chest; Goldie’s tongue dragged over her plump lower lip, her eyes growing almost impossibly wider as she leant in to whisper inaudibly to anybody else but her newest fuck-buddy, her breath hot against the alabaster flesh causing a revolution of goosebumps to rise. “Pretty. Precious. Rosie, we call you rosie. How would Rosie like to die?” She mused as her meager palms kneaded the slight curves of the other woman's breasts, two digits on either hand pinching and rolling the hardened peaks of her nipples as her head leant curiously to the side. “Happy. Happy, yes? Like fireworks. BOOM!” Goldie brought her hands together in a loud clap as she uttered her last syllable, glee in it’s purest form twisting her features into a portrayal of demented joy. The girl jumped, the balls of her feet hitting the hard floor causing her to flinch as her knees buckled. “Come!” Goldie ordered, throwing the slim woman down before she could even think about doing as she were told, her knees either side of her hips as her hands made simple work of tearing her dress from her body; the lace fraying with ease under her fortuitous strength.
Her body were toned, a tiny diamond chandelier pierced through her belly button framing her navel exquisitely, her crotch and breasts free of any lingerie in preparation for a debutantes dance with a hooker, a lady of the night branded with a scarlet letter.
The panic was set in the eyes of the beauty as she realised this would be her last night of sin; a forbidden masquerade of a good girl gone bad. Her legs splayed with moisture pooling between them, her folds slick with arousal as hot breath cascaded past her scarlet lips in a frantic exhale. Goldie’s lips claimed her companions with lustful vigour, lipstick smearing over them as her hand delved between the legs of her client; her clit were lubricated with the juices of the carnal sin they were both committing, throbbing deliciously with each circular motion of the lunatics nimble fingers the pleasure building up to an excruciatingly sensual climax aided by lascivious open-mouthed kisses along her exposed throat and over her chest heaving with each loaded respire - teeth claiming, tainting the inculpable flesh of her bust. Goldie pounded two fingers into the dripping cunt of the girl she would soon disfigure beyond recognition, slamming them into her fiery core over and over and over again until her hips began to buck involuntarily and her fingers pulled at her sweat matted mane, passion finally shattering any remnants of control her lady friend had fought to keep a hold of as she came violently her pussy tightening its grip on the evil doers digits.
Goldie brought her sodden fingers to her mouth and sucked them clean with genteel laps of her tongue, her grin stretching into one of maniacal proportions. “You die now.” She had simpered nonchalantly, unearthing an A4 Magnum from its bed beneath her downy pillows and blowing a hole in her casualties skull before she could do anything more than release a chilling scream and splatter brain matter against the miscreants rosy cheeks, the recoil of the firearm not even tempting a wince from the blonde as blood puddled around her knees.
Goldie had relished in hours upon hours of delectable torture on the redhead, the eyes were the only things that could have been recognised if anybody had come looking and now they hung above her bed where she would sleep and work and dream of the last light of life expiring from the sated females mesmeric baby blues.
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