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"Are you free tonight?"

“I suppose? I usually go right home and have dinner. A little boring but I’m a fan of routines. Why?”

“I just see you in here a lot by yourself. You always look so.. stuffy and sad. Maybe that’s just cause you’re a busy woman.”

#*wiggles teh sexy eyebrows at kringle-chan*#hey babe #wanna get killed?#misskringle

butcherled

The house was silent as the grave – a bad comparison in rather poor taste, given the circumstances. Margaret mentally chided herself for allowing such a joke to even cross her mind. This night was supposed to be serious. She was supposed to understand. She loved Michael – she really and truly did, with all her heart, more than she’d ever loved another human being – and she wanted to do everything in her power to express that love to him in whatever way she could. But murdering another human being? Actively taking a life, watching the light fade from their eyes and knowing that she was responsible – it was unthinkable. Unimaginable. Her heart thudded violently in her chest as he ascended the stairs, the telltale thump thump thump of his boots against the hardwood flooring matching her hammering pulse. His voice announced his presence. Slowly, she turned around to face him, gaze cast towards the ground. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t meet his eyes. She was scared, and if she so much as saw his face, she’d break down. Her hands were already shaking, fingers curling tightly into the fabric of her shirt to try and keep the jittery movements to a minimum. Finally, she spoke. Her voice betrayed her nerves. ❛ I… I think so. ❜

butcherfed-blog

She is beautiful even trembling with fear, Michael thought. It was an effort to imagine how she must have been feeling. A part of him wanted to hold her tight and kiss all of her worries away at that very instant, but he held back. A stronger force reminded him of what needed to be done tonight. Instead, he merely cupped her chin with a reassuring smile.

“ I know you can do this. I know because you love me - we love each other. ”

He had never let Maggie see his work before, though she had long known of it. There had always been a lingering piece of Mike which sought to protect his wife from being a part of this.. but that piece had now become nearly impossible to find. He wanted, more than anything, for them to feel together -- to feel complete and share in everything.

He gripped his wife’s hand and guided her into the darkness below. He knew that whatever happened within that basement would either bind them for life or tear them apart.

#butcherled

a-joyfuljourney

#voice of rage and ruin ( aesthetic )

When the coughing subsided, he knew she had regained consciousness once more. Her pale eyes focused on the man in front of her and her bruised lips parted, but before she could make a sound, Michael placed the gag back in its place. There would be no screaming anymore. This night had to go perfectly.. and that meant no begging or crying.

He gave the basement a lasting, sweeping scan before leaving. A place of shadows, dust and death; it was here that he felt most comfortable doing his work. And yet his heart seemed to drum faster with each step he climbed. The same crushing thoughts kept racking his mind over and over and over: What will she think of me? How will she react? Will she love me after this?

At the end of his climb, he opened the door to find his wife waiting where he knew she would be. She knew about his secret, but would she become his accomplice? Will she be able to do it?

“ Are you ready, honey? ”