Chapter 1. Victim
Isolation. Chosen both by herself and society. She was not the girl that ran with the hip crowd. Her style of dress, Gothic and Lolita, separated her like the serrated blade that would soon separate her wrist from her hand. She pulled no punches and expected nothing in return. Her death would be the birth of a new style of art. It would usher in a new era of intelligence into the world. Her sacrifice would be a drop of blood in the pool that over flows.
Her, the least of all people, petite and albino. Not the usual Goth chick. Her stock had been so normal. Hard working father. Home making mother. Then there was her. An albino. A freak act of nature and mutant genes. The wildcard that was flung onto the table at the last moment before the chips were collected by the previous thought winner.
Now the previous though winner was a loser. His face drops with his jaw in astonishment. Such will it be with me, she thought. In due time her pale skin will blossom with crimson roses of blood, and her screams would be legendary in the halls of future museums.
Her voice would be the measure of future masterpieces. Her spilling of blood would be the orgasm that the entire world feels. Her flesh cut from her body would feed the hunger of the beast. The beast that had been buried and gone for so long. The beast that would be reborn and released.
Her heart was pounding in her chest but eventually it would beat no more. But her heart would be the glory for all to see. She was ready to willingly proceed with the actions that were in front of her. Actions that would bring death, life, sex, and art together. The ultimate showcase of merit.
She was part of what would be a original pure masterpiece of work. From an early age she began to prepare herself for this. She resisted the need to cut herself, only to save that her skin would be scar free. She would force herself to vomit if she felt her weight was on the upward.
Isolation. Chosen both by herself and society. She was not the girl that ran with the hip crowd. Her style of dress, Gothic and Lolita, separated her like the serrated blade that would soon separate her wrist from her hand. She pulled no punches and expected nothing in return. Her death would be the birth of a new style of art. It would usher in a new era of intelligence into the world. Her sacrifice would be a drop of blood in the pool that over flows.
Her, the least of all people, petite and albino. Not the usual Goth chick. Her stock had been so normal. Hard working father. Home making mother. Then there was her. An albino. A freak act of nature and mutant genes. The wildcard that was flung onto the table at the last moment before the chips were collected by the previous thought winner.
Now the previous though winner was a loser. His face drops with his jaw in astonishment. Such will it be with me, she thought. In due time her pale skin will blossom with crimson roses of blood, and her screams would be legendary in the halls of future museums.
Her voice would be the measure of future masterpieces. Her spilling of blood would be the orgasm that the entire world feels. Her flesh cut from her body would feed the hunger of the beast. The beast that had been buried and gone for so long. The beast that would be reborn and released.
Her heart was pounding in her chest but eventually it would beat no more. But her heart would be the glory for all to see. She was ready to willingly proceed with the actions that were in front of her. Actions that would bring death, life, sex, and art together. The ultimate showcase of merit.
She was part of what would be a original pure masterpiece of work. From an early age she began to prepare herself for this. She resisted the need to cut herself, only to save that her skin would be scar free. She would force herself to vomit if she felt her weight was on the upward.
