Don't make a sound.

Don't move.

Don't even breathe.

You obey, every fibre in your being trembling with suppression and abject terror. I see it in your face, the set of your mouth, your eyes – those delicate, invincible, glittering azure eyes – you're petrified. The tears trickling like liquid silver down pale white cheeks tell me so, your whole existence screams it to me.

You're mine now. A smile at the thought.

You? The indomitable, unreadable, inhumanly beautiful you – mine? All those qualities, all the power, all the impossible shining specks that make you up are mine now? The concept is so insane, a fulfilment of a life's dream made real by the ropes strangling your limbs like thorns, that I cannot entirely believe in it. But no, it must be true – you're still telling me that with your eyes, the begging pleading breaths forced from between those perfect lips, the infinitesimal shaking of your head in its bonds.

I told you not to move!

The recoil is delicious as your head snaps back from the force of the blow – not killed, of course not – just mildly stunned, and disciplined. You're mine now. I have to show you where your place is, you know that don't you? You know that!

And more tears. I do not know if it is my raised voice or the weapon I conjure from a pocket – an easy sleight of hand, but one that fits my purpose like the gloves on my hands. The knife twirls a dizzying dance on my palm, another simple trick, but one that captures your attention like a magnet. I laugh and still the blade. You always did have a childlike innocence, wide-eyed like you were seeing the world for the first time. It's there now in your face, your bottom lip trembling like a toddler about to throw a tantrum – except you won't.

You're too well-disciplined for that, no?

The knife in my fingers feels heavy, begging for use, for blood, to feel the sweet split of skin beneath its shining length, shivering in delight. I lift it to my lips, trailing the edge on my jawline, whispering to it. You don't understand this, I see – your eyes widen that little bit bigger, your shallow breathing skips a rhythm.

I thought I told you not to breathe?

That's better. You gasp silently now, like a fish out of water, drowning in what you need most. Of course I realise that you need to breathe – just as I do, another human being. Am I? I thought I was… but what is human? Is this human? The deathly terror in your eyes tells me no, and I never did disagree outright with you.

What are you looking at?

Damn, first blood – a tiny trickle from the cut on your cheekbone where my fist struck. I gaze at the scarlet stream in infinite wonder. It is like watching a life drain away – it is, really – and it seems so strange that you do nothing to stop it. Won't you even try to save yourself? Do you hate life so much?

You certainly complain enough – but that isn't a criticism of you, my love, of course not. How could I criticise perfection? Yet that means that this is a service – I am performing a service to you, one you needed yet were too afraid to ask for. That's all you needed to do, my one, my petal – I will obey.

You're afraid now, I know, but remember what I am doing – for you! Always for you, my songbird, my flower, my delicately blooming rose. The time is drawing near, I can tell; your lovely little heart that had never truly belonged to me is beating fit to burst. But I don't want it to be over that quickly – you're mine now, and I want it to stay that way forever.

At that word your eyes widen again, if it were possible. I know what you're thinking; once I have dispatched you, as I know you think of it, I will kill myself to be with you always in death? Naïve, my sweet; we both know that there is nothing beyond that final leap into nothingness, no fantastical paradise or horrendous hell. All that will be left of you will be the empty husk of that magnificent body, nothing more.

You know, when the blood ceases to flow, I lose interest very quickly; it's not so satisfying when there is only a sluggish trickle from dead flesh to sate me, It’s never so much fun without the little whimpers of agony, the pleas for mercy you will never receive.

Even monsters need to breathe.

The first of these breathless pleas reach my eager ears as the knife in my hand becomes motionless no more, twirling through my fingers like a glittering handshake. I glance between it and the dancing terror in your eyes – no more tears now, I think you've gone past that state – and I consider. Is it time yet?

Why not?

You tremble a little more violently, a little faster as I approach like a silent cat, a liquid predator that makes no noise, gives no warning to help you flee. But of course, you can't flee; my precautions made sure of that, otherwise you would have fled long ago.

The knife trembles itself in my steady hand as I reveal my face to you finally, the bandana dropping to the floor with a soft swish. What do you see? Shining eyes, gleaming with anticipation; one violet like an amethyst or some such; one glowing scarlet like a drop of blood, a reflection of the rushing liquid in your veins, so close to the surface and just waiting to be freed. Pale skin that contrasts so sharply to the darkest brown hair on my head, the high black collar of my jacket. Is this what you see?

Or do you see a monster?

There is no flicker of recognition in your eyes, and how could there be – you've certainly never seen me before, not as much as I've seen you. No, I existed to you as a shadow in the corner of your eye, a dark shiver creeping up your spine – but here I am, my love! You can see me as easily as I can see you, but I don’t think you are the better for it, unlike me.  

You always were unlike me in every way.

I reach you, reach out to touch your shivering skin like silk under my fingers. Your tears are bitter on my tongue, your mouth trembling on mine. Stay still, my sky, my earth, stay oh-so-still as I savour your sweet taste – sweet as the gasp that runs from your mouth, sweet as the delicate kiss of my knife on your shoulder. Your blood, that’s sweet too – thick and thin at the same time, sweet and iron-bitter as it trickles down my throat.

Red, so red; red as it escapes eagerly from your skin, red as it trickles from the corners of my mouth. Another cut, another escape – it seems to want to drain from you, seems to want to run over your skin like a crimson lattice from the channels now springing from your shoulders, arms, neck – but of course, not too deep on the neck. How tragic that would be!

As I trail the blade there, down from your ear to that first slice on your shoulder, you see a way out and try to drive the knife into your windpipe by thrusting your neck against it – but I see your trembling muscles tense and jerk the knife away with your movement, so it doesn’t ever leave your skin but cuts no deeper.

Almost an accident there, my love, but not to worry; I won't let this end too quickly. Surely that is relief, not even greater terror, in your eyes; surely those are tears of gratitude, not frustration, falling down you skin. Never mind – I know what you’re trying to tell me breathlessly as your fragile life gutters like a candle in the wind.

Thank you.

And then your eyes finally slide closed and the final breath hisses out of existence. I straighten up from my feeding and lick my lips, delicate as a cat; a slow, languorous blink, a careless glance at the empty shell left of you, and I am done, detached from you – who were you again?

Did I ever even know your name?

More time must have passed than I thought, for here they are, calling your name so desperately, hoping to find you before I; I would love to stay and see the extinguishing of their hope, the crushed faith, the tears of grief and anger – but, alas, I cannot.

Farewell my nameless love; you were the sweetest of them all.

One last mark on your skin and I am gone, leaving only that behind.

A sweet, bloody kiss on your cheek.