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Blood on the Dance Floor

By Grey King All Rights Reserved ©

Horror

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It started as barely a whisper, barely a glance, barely a rustle. Slender fingers running through auburn hair brought the heat; gossip began to boil in the smooth corners, the stiff necks creaked as they turned and bent, polished lips cracked as words began to escape. Red swept the room, flashes of skin, sweeping train painting the floor with tales of broken hearts and insatiable lust. Cracks of masks and the strain of chains resounded over the desperate chinks of glass. Gloved fingers suffocated slender champagne glasses.

Flashes of skin flitted her out to the terrace. Peace was restored. Or so they thought.

Leaves choked as the tobacco burned to smoke. The murmuring wind began to howl in hunger, begging her for release. Slender fingers were lost again in auburn as she wiped colour off her pale lips. Shadows clawed at her dress, digging trenches in her flesh, crimson ran freely and pooled at her feet. Starved mouths panted, hot steam adding to the building fog.

“It will begin soon” she said as she licked off the cream off her ring, hungrily her children scarfed down the carcass of a once grand cake. A discordant scream rang from within, the glass displaying to all the shame of the brutality. Laughing in the centre of the rhythmic crashes of relieved glasses brandishing a chainsaw stood the mad dog, eyes rolled in ecstasy, jaws slacked in horrid laughter. No mercy was accorded, the blade met and sliced open every piece of cloth and pieces of flesh it attempted to protect. Crestfallen was he when he realised that there was none to appreciate his art, hugged he soaked rags, breathing in the fresh and bitter aroma of blood.

Sweeping her hair back, she daintily stepped off the balcony, “Time to feast”. The leashes slipped as the beasts tore into the room. Heavy hooves made no sound against the marble, winged flapped noisily in taunt as they saw him run and fall in vain. Bared fangs sank through him like butter. Blissfully she watched as her children tore him apart.

“I am Death and today we had an appointment” she told his gaping eyes while the rooms of butchered dolls melted away.

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