@brokcnholy
stained hands grip the handle of the carving knife, before casually tossing and flipping it. there’s a devilled smile on joseph’s face, but it is not joseph’s smile. no, it belongs to something far more sinister.
“you’re screaming, and it’s really distracting me from my work.” the entity currently known as the dover ghost speaks, slight anger in his voice — but it is not his victim he is speaking to; it’s his vessel, his meat suit. “a part of you actually enjoys this: holding someone else’s life in your hands.”
dover traces the tip of his knife against his neighbour’s face, before pressing it deep, piercing skin, “after all, isn’t that what you do in your church every damn day?” blood gushes out, and an inhuman groan of pain echoes through this place between worlds.
