[ Night crept down on the crumbling city, stealthily creeping itâs way along down the ominous alleyways and into the gutters through the drunken bodies that stumbled down the streets, and the cold ones who would never flutter their lids again. A scattering of stars congregated above, the narcoleptic sky a rich, deep, blue like a velvet blanket had been wrapped over the Earth as the slumbering crescent moon lit up the sky â the fickle streetlamps long-since burned out.Â
Armed with a bloodied bowie knife and her sharpened incisors, the feral little girl rampaged on, following the scent of fresh blood. Her elfin face was already bloodstained, great streams of crimson dripping from her chapped lips and across her ragged smock, but one thought consumed Sephy:Â hunger, and she wouldnât stop until her appetite was fully sated.
The civilian slums were where the child always took herself to perform the weekly grocery shop, for they stocked only the best of meat â young, old, pure, anesthetized, fat, thin, greying on top and fresh out of the womb â all of them lined up like wooden dolls in a toy shop anxiously awaiting her arrival, singing their choral song âpick me! Pick me!â The ones she liked best were always the ones who gave her a good show â âSpare little Tommyâs life and take me instead!â âNo, Mama! Donât do it!â âMonster! Devil! I cast you out!â â for she would often lean back against the door frames examining the flecks on her bloodstained fingernails as families argued between themselves who would be the victim of her wrath.
Often it was more fun to let them choose between themselves â she watched their emotional struggles and relished in her untethered life. Relationships were weaknesses, and sooner or later someone was bound to exploit them. In the times where they took too long, she would grab the nearest hostage and make do, but the children were always the best. Their meat was the purest, unaffected by drink, drugs or the toils of lifelong servitude to this microcosmic hell on earth.
Lurking at the end of the block of shanties Persephoneâs fervent eyes scanned her surroundings, focusing on the infant body of a child cooing in their cradle on the makeshift porch of a wood and iron slum. Mother goose had left baby to fetch the bottle of milk â her back only turned for a split-second â but a split second was all it took. Quick as a bullet shot out of a gun the child was in Sephyâs arms as she hurtled away from the scene, a motherâs agonized yells filling her ears, but the little imp wouldnât stop for anything, her bare feet carrying her to the edge of the slum. Her heart hammered in her rib cage as she darted through the streets â right, left, double back, straight ahead, U-turn, right, left, duck, over the rooftop, down the alley â the consistent beat of her feet on the Earth the only thing preventing her from tearing the child to pieces the second it touched her hands.
When the pains of starvation became to heavy for her heart she fell, knees slamming into the earth like the pounding of her chest. One thought engulfed her: feed. A babyâs scream sounded like a siren. Fangs clenched down on jugular and the screaming was cut short. Blood lapped into the blooded girlâs mouth and she fed, greedily devouring all that she could, lapping up every last morsel. She had missed the taste of human meat . It provided a satisfaction that no animal ever could. The metallic taste blood â dripping from her lips like a pretty little killer, bruised knuckles and broken bones â was her addiction. She craved fresh blood and she would have it if she had to burn a whole empire down. ]
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