In his soul lay such a hunger, it devoured all common sense and every train of thought that Cobain had, twisting and turning his mind until every route ended up at the same inevitable end. Where darkness was the king, and he twisted himself into every corner of existence, into every living soul, the trees and the air and the sun. In his mind he could feel it, eating at the pit of his stomach and forcing its way up his throat.
It was like a dance, a line of poetry, so vivid and clear, so ugly and vile.
This silence is killing him. He can feel his hunger pushing against him as if supplied with the strength of iron hands, even with the taste of his last kill still on his mouth. A blissful moment of satisfaction reaches him as he finds another taste of the crimson liquid under his tongue, before he falls back more into that rage filled spiteful state, hatred burning up within him for her, himself, every single one that has been damned into his species, and every one who has not had their soul's fate sealed. But as least the blood could temporally remove all the thoughts and burning hate for a few moments. It never lasted long enough though. The hell child always wanted more.
Those deep red eyed lazily shift around the town as the nightlife gathers. The sun had set ages ago, but Cobain had waited until the very last ray darted behind the horizon. He had been stuck in the sun before, and he was not keen to try it again. Obsidian tresses are hidden in the night, the sheer raven like shine to them only apparent as he moves under streetlights. He was bored. He had completed her task ages ago and had just found his way back here. But there was nothing for him in this life, destroy, kill, it was all he knew now. He moves through the night with such a ghostly silence as the shadows seem to almost cling to him as if he were their king, but Cobain knows that is such a lie because while Cobain is no dog with a chain round his neck, he does hold one in his hand, following it back to the mistress he knows all to well and hates as much as he hates himself and this pathetic life he leads. He's dead, but those lifeless eyes still move, expecting to see her come from the shadows at any moment. He hadn't always been like this, Cobain remembers well his time having drifted away from his body into the arms of death only to be plunged back inside it once more, more deceitful, and rage filled, his body but a hollow shell to store such negative emotions.
A scent reaches him. "Blood," he breathes gently, the word lisps from his tongue and hangs like dead weight in the air. The black haired boy moves towards the smell, his hunger and cravings knowing no bounds it would seem. He turns a corner and moves down an alleyway that looks straight from a horror movie. Cobain sees a woman sitting on the ground, silent tears rolling down her face as she takes haggard, gasping breaths. "Please, help, someoneâ€"robbedâ€"meâ€"he stabbed me," she manages to gasp out between struggling gasps for air. Ruby red eyes stare down at her before kneeling, dropping only to gaze at her wound for a moment. With a painstaking slow reach of his hand, Cobain touches it against the wound, feeling her skin flinch beneath him as eyes remain on the woman's face, letting it race through his memory of the faces she had shown the puppeteer. He gather no recollection of the woman, so she was useless and in his maroon eyes, fair game. "Are youâ€"going to helpâ€"me?" She asks fearfully, the color beginning to drain from her face. An eerie smile comes to his face as the boy's fang are revealed, ivory and pointed. Beautifully terrifying against his soft, smooth face. But then the grin disappears on his youthful face. He leans forward towards her, his mouth not an inch from her ear. A word, a single word falls from his mouth, hushed against the woman's awaiting ear. "No."
He pulls away from her, to stare at her with those ruby eyes once more, positively wild with hunger. A sadistic smirk only appearing for a moment before his look falls blank and expressionless once again. It is only then he sees a new sort of terror within the woman's chocolate hues, the kind of fear where you know there is no escape, where you think about whether or not you have made peace with your maker, and praying to whatever god that there is an after life, that this isn't it. And how Cobain relishes in the end. So many of the ones she has requested Cobain to take care of, knew that she would come for them in the end, whether herself or her hound, and they went with smiles that said they made it this far. But this terror was pure, she hadn't known tonight was going to be the end, and the smell of her shock and horror is sending him reeling like some twisted, sick high. He suddenly reaches forward in one moment and sinks his fangs deep within her skin, puncturing it so easily. The blood was fresh, clean, not like the junkies he was often forced to drink off of, for fear of killing one of the precious ones on her list. Oh but this was so pure, it was just what he needed, though his thirst would be far from quenched, this he already knew.
He finishes, leaving her dead body in the alleyway, he had never been one to clean up his messes. His eyes return to their natural earthen brown shade that he had been born with. Though those dark eyes are still as emotionless as ever. He moves off from the alley and back into the main part of town and as he raises the hood of his grey sweatshirt, ruby red eyes can just be barely made out under the cover of darkness, noting the monster's hunger having returned.
Sacrosanct, the streets you walk are no longer safe.
COBAIN DALCAimage by Maaike Nienhuis