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A CRIMSON DOLL

An Original Tale by Isabelle Bisson-Routhier

Aveline is a new waitress at a diner filled with fantastical - and somewhat creepy-looking - porcelain dolls... and the owner, a strange, but devastatingly-handsome man named Dackon, seems to have taken an odd interest in her. But what does he do between seductions and mystery? Aveline isn't sure she wants to know...

...no matter how interested in him she already is.

WORD COUNT: 10.3K GENRE: Dark Romance AGE RATING: 18+

WARNINGS: Explicit (100% Consensual) Sexual Content, Power Imbalance, Blood, Violence, Character Death, Murder

Aveline Wishwood:

The old-fashioned diner smelled of strawberry milkshakes topped with sprinkles and cream, the drizzling of cheap maple syrup over sizzling bacon, and the floral perfume that had clearly, just that morning, been delicately sprayed every doll in the building.

And there were more dolls in the diner than those in Aveline’s childhood dollhouse, which was practically impossible.

Each of them looked more Victorian than Barbie-esque, and none of them were dressed like the little girls such dolls were often meant to mimic. Instead, they were donned in intricate, fantastical outfits, from fairies with their tissue-thin, petal-like skirts, their wings made of delicate glass, to mermaids with long tails that matched actual fishes that Aveline could vaguely recognize, given her mermaid-phase as a child. Clownfish and salmon and butterfish and pufferfish.

There were little-girl dolls with carefully-painted scales upon their porcelain flesh, turning them into glimmering dragons-in-human-forms: the colours of amber and ruby and gold. There were pointed ears to make little-girl dolls look like elves, feathers to turn them into harpies, and horse-bodies made of porcelain to turn them to centaurs.

Every outfit looked handmade.

Every eye was a black marble, but every eye looked real all the same.

Every eye looked… oddly real.

As Aveline slipped inside, she found herself stunned by the décor of this place: decorated to look like a 50s restaurant overtaken by a fantasy world, with large mushrooms with red-and-white-checkered caps, twisted white tree-limbs holding up vinyl seats and sturdy tables, and workers with glittery-gold points on the tips of their years.

Despite the décor, every worker wore pristine 50s-style uniforms, complete with clean aprons and little hats.

It felt like Aveline was stepping into a whole other world, and she found herself loitering in the doorway with her eyes as wide as twin moons – as silver as them, too, like pearls nestled in the pale skin of her face – until a young woman with black-and-pink hair bounced over to her, grabbing her by the hands and shaking them enthusiastically.

“Oh. My. God,” she said, sounding like a stereotypical rich-girl in some 2000s movie, though her makeup was so dark and alternative that it was like she barely belonged in this place, even though she did wear the uniform. “You must be Aveline! Oh, come in. Come in! I’m Mimika, the coolest waitress you’ll ever fucking meet—oh! Sorry, kiddos!”

A group of children gaped at Mimika.

Their grown-ups didn’t look particularly pleased.

Mimika waggled her fingers at them – nails painted pink-and-black and so pointy that they were practically claws – before she turned back to Aveline, still wearing that right, perfect-toothed grin… though her canines were a little sharp, Aveline noticed.

“You’re early,” said Mimika, still flashing those teeth. “Your first shift doesn’t start for half an hour. Are you trying to impress the boss?”

Aveline blinked at her.

She then remembered that questions were meant to be answered, and not responded to with curious stares. Usually, she was far better with her manners, but this place… was like nothing she’d ever seen before.

It was hard not to spend hours taking it all in.

“I wanted to make a good first impression,” said Aveline, finally, her face pinkening in the apples of her cheeks, before she straightened and folded one hand over the other on her midsection. “Punctuality is important, anyway. At my last place of work, I prided myself in never being late, not even once. I find that superiors appreciate it.”

Mimika giggled. “Superiors, huh?”

She leant against an empty book, drumming her nails on the polished plastic above the backrest as she looked over Aveline once again. Her eager eyes combed over Aveline’s neat silver-blonde braid, her pristine skirt and shirt, and even those socks that had been ironed specially for today. A faint smirk overcame her sharp features.

Finally, Mimika locked eyes with her again. “You speak like you grew up rich. How’d you end up here, not some fancy boutique?”

Aveline shifted on the spot, a tad uncomfortably. “It’s a long story.”

A moment passed.

Two. Three.

And then Mimika giggled again, as seemed to be usually in her shrill voice. Before either of them could say another thing, Mimika took Aveline by the wrist, and began to pull her across the tiled floor, over to a door beside the counter, labelled: STAFF ONLY.

There, they came to a halt.

Beside them was a doll dressed to look like a little fairy, its beady black eyes so wide and shiny that it almost looked to be tearing up.

For a moment, Aveline could do nothing but watch it.

Watch it. Watch it. Watch it.

Releasing Aveline’s hand, Mimika planted her fists on her hips, looking over Aveline for the dozenth time, long and quick, but also, somehow, slow: almost unnervingly slow.

And then Mimika plastered that grin back onto her face.

“You’re cute!” she said. “The customers will love you.”

She leant in.

“But not the handsy ones, I hope,” she stage-whispered, then winked, before leaning back again. “Now, how’d you get this job, again? We don’t tend to get our staff the normal way, dop we?”

Mimika’s voice became a saccharine giggle.

Aveline stared at her.

What the…

She furrowed her brow.

“I had an interview over the phone,” said Aveline. “I just moved to the area. I used to work at a sister restaurant owned by the boss’s old friend, so she passed on my information and he interviewed me.”

Mimika’s eyes shone with amusement.

Was she waring pink contacts?

Well, at least she was committed to the aesthetic.

Even if the aesthetic didn’t match the building.

“How did you get a job here?” asked Aveline, watching as Mimika turned and pressed a few buttons on the keypad beside the door. “If it wasn’t the normal way, as you described it.”

Mimika giggled.

She giggled a lot.

Turning, Mimika’s pink-and-black curls bounced like bubbles on her shoulders. “Wouldn’t you like to know, sweet-cheeks?”

The words made Aveline’s skin prickle.

Aveline shifted unsurely on the spot, swinging the canvas bag on her shoulder, just to hold it closer to her side… only for it to collide right into the fairy doll on the counter, the one that had captivated her before she had forgotten the fact of its existence.

The fairy doll seemed to fall in slow motion.

Falling.

The fairy doll hit the tiles.

Crash!

Its wings hit the tiles, and exploded into a dozen, a hundred, a thousand, a million, a billion tiny little pieces, making the floor glimmer like it was covered in fine, sparkling glitter.

Another moment passed.

Another two. Another three.

With a squeak, Aveline moved backwards, her face burning red, her eyes stinging, and her skin prickling with that overwhelming feeling that oh, god, she’d messed up, she’d messed up, she’d messed up, she’d messed up, she’d messed up, she’d messed up, she’d messed up.

Silence reigned onwards.

When she dared cast her gaze all around, everybody was looking at her, from the children with ice cream on their faces to the adults halfway through falling-apart burgers and dull coffee.

Everybody in the whole diner was staring at her.

Aveline’s entire body prickled and burned.

And then Mimika laughed, high and shrill, clapping her hands together like the playing of a well-trained seal. “Oh, god! Well, you’re in trouble. Already? That’s hilarious, sweet-cheeks!”

Aveline inhaled sharply. “How much was the doll?” she asked, her voice a soft and hurried whisper. “Is this going to come out of my paycheque, or am I... am I fired?”

Mimika’s black lips parted, her eyes sparkling.

And then the door behind her opened, though only partly, revealing a white shirt and a waterfall of long, crimson hair. The smell of rich cologne and the faintest aroma of something sickly-sweet filled the air, so strong and complex that it was like a punch to the nose.

The smell alone dizzied her.

Aveline took a step back.

“Uh oh,” giggled Mimika behind her palm.

The lingering of eyes could be easily felt, and not the lingering eyes of Mimika or the customers who had returned to their meals – most of whom, at least. Some of the adults looked to find the obvious drama a wondrous respite from the quarrels of their young ones.

Those were not the eyes she was focused on.

Shoes light upon the tiled floor, Aveline shifted on the spot, before she straightened her spine, looking through the slid of shadows and the white shirt and red hair that filled it. She was not to be a coward.

Aveline was never to be a coward.

Not for a moment.

A deep, deep voice suddenly rumbled through the air, uttering the long and low, simple command, “come see me in my office after your shift is complete, Aveline Wishwood.”

The door closed again.

But the chill in the air still lingered,

***

Aveline gnawed on her hangnail, leaning back against the counter and watching the last customers flow out of the door as if they were made of water. Children with sticky fingers waved their joyous goodbyes, and adults exchanged looks about what they would do when their little ones crashed into their race-car-shaped beds.

And Aveline almost wished she was with them.

That would be the safer bet.

Little was known of her boss – Dackon, Dackon, Dackon – and Mimika hadn’t told her much of note, much that would soothe her spirits about the consequences of what she had done.

It was an accident, just an accident!

Surely, she wouldn’t be penalised so severely…

But, whatever it was, it had had to wait until the customers were all done, even though Aveline was significantly early for her shift.

Was she fired?

God forbid.

She needed this job.

In her bright, musical voice, Mimika called her goodbyes to the parents and children as they left, before turning to Aveline with a grin of schadenfreude on her pretty face, one that was almost kind, but wasn’t, at all, at the very same time.

Maybe Aveline just didn’t know her well enough.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

Aveline bunched up her apron in both fists as hard as she could, before, finally, she released them. She straightened on the spot, and fixed the look of calm severity onto her face that she had been required to wear in her mother’s presence all her life.

“Am I fired?” she asked.

Mimika twirled a lock of hair around her finger, seeming thoughtful, before she shrugged almost helplessly. “Who knows? But you’d better find out now, Aveline! Dackon won’t wait for you forever.”

She leant in, eyes glinting.

With amusement, they glinted like stars.

Her pink contact-lenses looked faker than ever.

“He’s a good boss,” said Mimika, her voice light with what was almost a lie, but also nothing of the sort.. “He doesn’t tolerate misbehaviour unless he can yank it right out of you with his teeth.” As if to demonstrate, she flashed her own teeth. “Better get going! The code for the door is 4917, okay, Aveline?”

Aveline decided she did not like Mimika.

It had not been a difficult decision to come to.

Aveline had not thought she would like Mimika – not particularly, at least – in the first moment in which they had locked eyes, but she had only grown to like her less and less and less as the day had passed, as the shift had come to a close. Had she been the confrontational type, she would have said something about it.

Aveline considered it, for a moment.

A moment. A moment. A moment.

She still decided against it.

Aveline nodded, turned, and headed to the STAFF ONLY door. With a firm hand, she typed in the code…

4.

9.

1.

7.

…and it did not work.

Her brow furrowed.

She tried again.

It didn’t work.

Once more.

It still did not work.

Aveline looked back over her shoulder, and Mimika burst out laughing, shaking her head with bouncing curls that had Aveline gritting her teeth and balling one fist.

“1749,” said Mimika, grinning through her words. “Try that.”

Bitch.

Aveline nodded sharply, turned, and typed in the code.

This time, it worked… and Aveline stepped through, into what was practically a whole different land. Beyond the diner was a room that was dark and cobwebbed and dusty, with broken lights that flickered like a horror movie and old crates stacked in every corner in sight.

And there were more corners than there should have been.

That was an odd thing to notice.

But she digressed.

Aveline straightened her shoulders, brushed her hands over her apron, and closed the STAFF ONLY door behind her. She adjusted her silver-bleached hair, tied in a flower-entwined braid, and surged onwards, down the oddly-ominous hallway that set her skin aprickle.

If she was going to keep working here, she would have to get over this juvenile fear of the state of the backrooms, which were bigger than she had expected them to be, given the size of the diner itself.

She could hear clanging in the kitchens, the chef packing up all the now-cleaned supplies, and she could hear Mimika blasting music as she swept and mopped and wiped down all the counters. But, more than anything, she could hear the thump-thump-thumping of hear heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

And her steps.

Step. Step. Step.

And then she reached the door to Dackon’s office, labelled with a golden plate that looked shinier than the main-room’s tiles.

Aveline paused, for just a moment – a moment, a second, a minute, an hour, a day, a year, a decade, a century, a millennium, an eternity or more – before she rapped her fist on the door three times, firm and loud, but not chaotic. She loathed the notion of chaos.

She waited.

Fidgeting with her apron, she waited.

Straightening her spine, she waited.

And then, finally, the words, “come in,” echoed through the door, then echoed throughout her whole body, making her exhale.

A moment passed.

Two. Three.

And then Aveline placed a hand upon the doorknob, twisted it, and stepped inside, closing the heavy door behind her.

The room was dark, made of nothing of deep browns, sharp whites, and accents in shades of rich crimson and polished gold. To the left was a bookshelf packed with classic leather books; to the right was a polished desk: far more vintage and expensive than this place deserved.

Too vintage. Too expensive.

This whole office was nothing like the hallways beyond, nor was it like the diner itself, aside from the Victorian inspiration that matched the dolls. It was like stepping into a whole other dimension.

Aveline looked around with half-fazed eyes…

…until the snapping of fingers caught her attention, and she snapped to look at the man in the vintage office-chair, his hands steepling on the surface of the desk, his dark expression blank.

Dackon Bite, who she hadn’t properly seen until now, was staring right at her, his long red hair shimmering like blood in the lamplight.

Aveline stared at him.

Stared. Stared. Stared.

Aveline stared at him… until Dackon motioned for hir to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk, small and plastic and clearly uncomfortable, even at a single sight. But what was Aveline to do but to follow her boss’s command and take a seat?

She swallowed.

She crossed the room.

She sat.

A moment passed.

Two. Three.

And then, finally, in a voice that stayed neutral, though she was, internally, more than a little panicked, Aveline asked, “am I fired, sir?”

Something odd flickered in his gaze.

A spark of gold amidst those red-brown seas.

“Sir?” he echoed.

Her face warmed.

She shifted.

“What else am I to call you… boss?” asked Aveline, slow and cautious, wondering if she had signed her own resignation papers without even getting her first paycheque.

Dackon looked her over, long and slow.

His dark eyes maintained their tinge of red, especially so when the desk’s lamp flickered, the orbs like blood that had dried long ago, staining a white cloth like the losing of innocence. He seemed to take her in slowly, thoroughly, almost hungrily.

Dackon’s eyes then snapped up to meet Aveline’s.

“You are an interesting young woman, Aveline Wishwood,” he said, as if he already knew all there was to know about her. “You’re by far one of the most interesting people I’ve ever encountered.”

“You know little of me,” said Aveline.

Dackon crossed one leg over the other, exposing his deep red trousers, ironed and pristine. “And why do you think that?”

“Because we have only now met.”

“Why does that mean I can’t know everything about you? I have heard of the Wishwood scandals, after all. Everyone who’s anyone has heard a thing or two of your mother’s dealings, even if she has scrubbed your family name from the press.”

A cold feeling washed over Aveline.

Her apron turned to knots in her fists.

“Are you looking to fire me over it?” she asked. “I swear to you, I had nothing to do with those financial matters. I was a child when they began. Even you must have been, too!”

Dackon watched her, for a moment.

His eyes consumed her.

A consumption that made her body squirm.

“I don’t intend on telling a soul,” said Dackon. “I don’t make a habit of spreading secrets through the social circles that I regrettably inhabit.”

Aveline’s eyes widened.

Twin moons.

“Thank you,” she said. “That… is much appreciated.”

Dackon seemed content to sit in longer lapses of silence than most were comfortable with. Though Aveline had long considered herself the same, it did bring an awkward knot in a stomach, the way he watched her without making a sound at all.

Aveline cleared her throat.

“Still,” she said, shifting in her uncomfortable chair, “you must not meet very many interesting people in this line of work, if you believe me to be one of the most interesting people you’ve encountered.”

Something twitched the corner of his lips.

For the life of her, she could not decipher it to be a smile or a frown.

Dackon’s fingers tapped a rhythm on his knee.

“I’ve met plenty of interesting people over the years. You should ask Mimika. She’s almost as likely to tell you the truth as she is to tell you a blatant lie. It fascinates me, and I fascinate her.”

Aveline quirked an eyebrow. “If you cannot trust her, why did you hire her? What if she steals from the till?”

Ddackon chuckled.

He did not answer that.

Clearly, he felt he did not have to.

Aveline shifted on the spot once again. “Just tell me, am I fired? Do I need to pay for the doll, as well… Dackon?”

Please, be content with a first name.

She wasn’t interested in some game.

Or whatever it was he wanted of her.

Another moment passed.

Too many moments kept passing,

What kind of sociopath loved awkward silence so much?

Aveline was almost tempted to quit on the spot.

But she needed the job.

Since she had left her family’s company, where they had been more than a little unethical in their dealings – as her employer seemed to know all about, of course – she had struggled to find a job that they didn’t have their near-infinite number of connections in.

She just needed enough money to move far, far away.

As far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far away as she could.

“Why would you be fired?” asked Dackon.

Aveline stared at him.

Aveline blinked.

And then, hesitantly, she asked, “because I broke the doll?”

“How did you break the doll?” asked Dackon.

And Aveline blinked again.

Aveline could not help but half-tilt her head like a particularly-puzzled puppy. “I knocked it off the counter with my bag. I thought… you knew because of the cameras?”

Something quirked the corner of Dackon’s lips.

Aveline watched him, and then, slowly, she asked, “there are cameras, aren’t there, Dackon? I saw them in the corners of the diner, in every corner. I wondered why you’d need so many, but I suppose your dolls must be particularly fragile. I’d wonder why you’d have so magic expensive dolls on display, but the customers seem particularly fond of them. They are a big part of the appeal – and, yes they are quite beautiful – but they must break so easily.”

“They do.”

“Then why are they part of the gimmick? You could use plastic ones, at least. Then, if someone is reckless enough to drop one—”

“Like you did.”

Aveline faltered, cheeks warning. “Well, yes, but…”

“Are you a reckless young woman, Aveline?”

Aveline straightened. “You’re not much older than me, Dackon.”

“By about a decade.”

“I’m not young.”

“To me, you are.”

Aveline quirked an eyebrow. “Do you make a habit of employing the helpless youth, then?” she challenged, leaning in and placing a hand on the table, despite herself and her usual reservations.

For a moment, Dackon continued to watch her.

And then he placed his hand atop hers.

Aveline pulled away.

Aveline stood.

Aveline’s heart thump-thump-thumped, and Dackon placed his hands into his lap, before leaning back in his chair.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“You’re not fired, Aveline,” he said.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Aveline took a step back.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

And then Aveline turned to the door. “Thank you, Dackon.”

As she reached for the doorknob, he followed her with only the words, “you can leave at any time, Aveline. But I don’t think you’ll want to, even if disaster actually strikes.”

Aveline didn’t allow him to elaborate.

She left.

Despite the odd squirming in her belly.

***

“Mimika,” asked Aveline, at the start of her very next shift, approaching her fellow waitress before she’d even signed the book announcing she had arrived, “has our boss ever been inappropriate with you, when the two of you are alone together?”

She finished tying the ends of her apron.

Mid-gathering half-empty milkshake-glasses, Miika paused, then toyed with the half-chewed curly-straws, each looking like twisted vines, speckled with flowers born of spittle.

A moment passed.

Two. Three.

And then Mimika turned to Aveline, something odd in her eyes.

“Has he been inappropriate with you?” she snapped.

Blinking a few times, Aveline recoiled. “What’s with the accusation, Mimika? Would it be my fault, if he had? Don’t tell me you’d attack me for being the recipient of inappropriate behaviour?”

“Has he?” asked Mimika, in the very same tone and at the very same volume: louder than Aveline would have liked her to be.

A pair of teenagers glanced their way.

The urge to flee and beg protection flitted through her mind.

Instead, Aveline’s ears burned.

“He touched my hand in our meeting,” she said, long and slow, “but didn’t try anything further when it was obvious I was uncomfortable with even the thought of marching his advances.”

“Were you uncomfortable?”

Aveline could feel some sour milkshake in her gut.

Though she had yet to sip from any today.

Shifting on the spot, Aveline finally said, “I… think so?”

Mimika dropped the tray of empty glasses, and they clinked so aggressively that Aveline was surprised none of them broke. She then grabbed Aveline by the collar, yanking her in a little closer.

“Don’t,” she spat. “He’s mine.”

The bell above the door rang, and another gaggle of teenagers stepped inside, just as Aveline pulled herself free from Mimika’s talon-fingered grip. She retreated by a step, her eyes narrowed.

“What’s wrong with you?” hissed Aveline.

Mimika stepped closer to Aveline again, her eyes as sharp as kitchen knives. “I spend half my nights in Dackon’s bed, and I don’t have interest in sharing the best casual-sex relationship I’ve ever had. Do you know what that man is like in bed? He’s a god.”

He’s a god? Peculiar.

“I’m covered in fresh hickeys every morning and I like it that way.”

Mimika stabbed at Aveline’s chest with one finger.

“Stay away from our boss,” she hissed, prodding and prodding and prodding. “You might be new, and you might be interesting and half-pretty, I guess, but you won’t be his. He is mine and he will always be mine! I’ll fuck him ‘til I’m done with him, and I refuse to share!”

Snatching up her tray again, Mimika turned.

And Mimika stomped away.

The night-guard who had accidentally slept there overnight watched Mimika go, before tipping her hat in Aveline’s direction: a silent message of luck, followed by a roll of the eyes. Those dark eyes of hers then flicked back to the singer who wasn’t even employed this early in the morning – only in the evenings, she had heard.

They didn’t seem worried about Mimika.

But they didn’t seem to be threats.

Andirna, as the night-guard was named, fiddled with her silver badge, soon as if she wasn’t paying much attention to Aveline. Magnus, the singer, turned and laughed, then waggled his fingers.

They were going to make this shift even more awkward than Mimika absolutely, entirely, very-much did.

***

The shift was exactly as awkward as Aveline had thought it would be, and so, when the work was over, she was in more than a hurry to get home. Her little apartment with her bookshelves and her old bedframe called to her, ready for her to toss aside her heels and dream of sweet things such as milkshakes and love.

Ha.

The bus-stop was right beside the diner’s entrance – seemingly by design, though she had no idea how Dackon had pulled that off, as he didn’t seem the type only reliant on luck – but Mimika was waiting them, fiddling with one of the hot pink knives she apparently collected… and Aveline decided she was to walk home.

She only lived half an hour away, anyway.

And she was too tired to be afraid.

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

Down the mostly-empty street.

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

Below flickering streetlamps.

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

Around corners and bends. Beside all-night corner-stores with flickering neon lights. Between crowds of teenagers that smoked even when they were far, far too young to do so. Beneath bridges that trembled with the rumble of cars.

Closer to her apartment.

Closer to her—

Aveline was yanked by the back of her shirt, into an alleyway.

She cried out, voice shrill, as she was shoved into a wall.

A jagged blade pressed into the underside of her chin, silencing her entirely, turning her breaths into nothing at all.

The man with the knife, breathing heavily, had a hoodie masking most of his features. Despite that, she could see the wild violence in his eyes. “Give me your wallet,” he spat.

Aveline struggled to speak.

“Give me your wallet!” he spat in her face, the globs of saliva dribbling down her left cheek. “Give me your fucking wallet!”

Aveline struggled to speak.

Words failed to push through the blockage in her throat.

A single tear dripped down her cheek.

She tried to push out the words.

Agony. Terror. Horror.

More. More. More,

The man with the knife pressed harder. “Give me your—”

His words were cut off with a gasp.

The knife fell from his hand, hitting the ground as he stumbled backwards and as blood formed at the front of his throat and as his eyes widened and then darkened and then emptied and then—

The mugger fell to the ground.

Splat.

And there as Dackon.

Her boss.

Standing over the body of the man who could very well have killed her just then, her boss was wielding a knife. Her boss was wielded a knife that was coated in blood, but… naturally so.

The jagged blade was not suitable for a kitchen.

But for a hunt.

Aveline could barely see straight or think straight.

She just stared up at him.

His pale skin glimmered like pearls beneath a shimmering moon. His dark eyes were nothing but obsidians nestled in a white clamshell. And his waterfall of crimson hair matched the blood pooling on the ground.

Aveline’s lips parted.

She readied to scream.

And then a hand was clamped over her mouth.

Her boss’s hand.

Her boss’s bloodied hand.

Dackon shushed her. “Do you want to be accused of the crime you just witnessed, Aveline Wishwood?”

Without really thinking about it, Aveline shook her head.

Though she knew she didn’t have much of a choice there, she also knew that he was, technically, correct. She had no interest in whatever crime it was that had just occurred, and certainly did not want to worsen the family name by committing a viler crime.

How had Dackon found her?

What was going on?

Aveline made a squeak of a sound.

“If I let got of you,” continued Dackon, low and slow, “you’re not going to scream for help, will you, Aveline?”

Again, Aveline shook her head.

Shake. Shake. Shake.

A moment passed.

Two. Three.

Dackon let go of her, before catching her by the wrist instead, pulling her out of the alleyway. “You’re coming with me,” he said. “You’re coming with me, Aveline, and you’re not going to scream. But, what you are going to do, is hold onto this for me.”

Aveline squeaked, but took what was handed to her.

She did not look at it.

Aveline squeaked, but followed.

Her feet stomped-stomped-stomped through puddles, dirty water soaking into her shoes and turning her socks to mush and making her calves into quivering, goosepimpled messes. Still, she allowed Dackon to press something into her hand, and she allowed him to drag her onwards, stumbling but obeying.

Stumbling, but wanting to obey.

Whatever was going on, she had to know what it was.

She had to know what it was. She had to know what it was. She had to know what it was. She had to know what it was She had to know what it was She had to know what it was. She had to know what it was.

Not that she had much choice.

It seemed the truth would arise no matter what.

And so, Aveline allowed her boss to drag her back over to the diner, pitch-black and entirely empty. And so, Aveline allowed her boss – the killer, the killer, the killer she had witnessed, though all to defend her, her, her – to take her through a half-hidden side-door, down a hallway, and then into his half-illuminated office.

She allowed him to let go of her wrist, and she did not pull back.

Aveline stayed where she was.

As still as a woman of lead.

Still. Still. Still.

Aveline watched as Dackon wrapped his fingers around the edges of the bookshelves, to her bewilderment, before pulling them open like a door, revealing a shadow-filled stairwell that led downwards.

He motioned for her to follow.

And what was Aveline to do but obey?

She still gripped whatever he had passed her.

Following her boss into the depths of a dust-stinking basement was hardly her ideal way to spend the evening, especially when they were soon surrounded by pitch-blackness… though only until Dackon pulled on a cord, revealing what looked like a bedroom.

A bedroom?

Did he sleep down there?

Huh.

Dackon outstretched one hand, motioning for Aveline to hand back whatever it was that he had handed her.

She uncurled her fingers, as stiff as they had become, and then gasped, stumbling back a step, when she realised that what she held was a miniature glass vial of… of… of…

Was that…blood?

That was blood.

Aveline could taste it on her tongue.

Dackon reached out.

He took the vial of blood, then turned away, walking to a cabinet made of the same wood that filled his office. He opened the door, revealing more vials of blood than she could imagine.

Aveline’s heart thumped. Hard.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Was he a serial killer?

Was he—was he—was he—

Dackon placed the vial down, before closing the door behind it.

He turned to Aveline, crossing his arms against his chest.

“If I was going to hurt you, Aveline,” he said, “I would have waited for you to die, and then killed the mugger afterwards. I had every opportunity to do so, and I decided to let you live.”

Aveline could barely breath.

Dackon looked her over.

Up and down.

“Sleep here tonight,” he said. “I’ll stay in my office.”

And that, it seemed, was that.

***

Aveline woke to a new shift in her boss’s bed, in her crumpled uniform, and without her boss in sight. Aveline woke with no opportunity to get home first, and so, she had to emerge from Dackon’s office to Magnus’s cheers and Mimika’s look of outright fury.

Her face was pink.

As pink as the juice of a berry.

But she did not say a word.

She didn’t say a word to anybody at all, except to ask Andirna, who was signing out, to pass her the pen so she could sign in. Even that was barely above a whisper, really.

Andirna, mute, handed it over, before patting her on the shoulder once, twice, thrice, in firm alliance… though, in what battle, Aveline wasn’t entirely certain. Still, the acknowledgement undid one of the thousands of knots in her churning stomach.

When the first customer came in, Aveline jumped to take it before Mimika had even picked up the pen to sign her own name, even though the table wasn’t technically in Aveline’s section.

Aveline worked as hard as she could, though waitressing in a casual diner had little difficulties beyond the impatient elderly and mouthy teenagers trying to impress their immaturest of friends. Aveline worked as hard as she could, and she didn’t make even a moment of eye contact with Mimika, though she could more than sense the glares.

“I did not sleep with him!” sat upon the tip of her tongue.

She didn’t say it.

“I did not sleep with him, Mimika! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him! I did not sleep with him!”

She didn’t.

And she wouldn’t.

Most importantly… she did not.

When her pen snapped in her grip, Aveline moved to the counter, making quick, perfect steps, reaching for her spare, but that was when the STAFF ONLY door swung open…

…and Dackon was out on the floor.

He was never out on the floor.

His arm brushed against hers, firm and tauter with more muscles than she had realised, stronger than any man of his position should rightly have been. He looked like he could do anything with his hands with ease. Anything. A fight was hardly the extent of it.

With ease. With ease. With ease.

Aveline’s heart thumped.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He had killed a man to save her.

How was a girl supposed to react to that?

How was anybody supposed to react to that?

He was dangerous. He was handsome.

He had not lain a finger on her.

And yet, he was strong.

His eyes grazed her face, before he returned to the backrooms before Aveline could even think to say a word to him…

…and that was when Mimika snapped her gaze from the customers she was serving, fixing her eyes onto Aveline. She then stormed across the floor – her heels click-clacking almost angrily – grabbing Aveline by the elbow, and yanked her to the supply closet, on the other side of the diner to the main STAFF ONLY door.

Aveline was stuffed inside.

Mimika blocked the door.

The tension was so high that Aveline could barely breathe.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Did you fuck him?” demanded Mimika.

“What? No!”

Mimika’s eyes were narrow slits of fury. “You spent the night in the basement with him. I know it. We all know it. Word travels quickly in this diner. Andirna told Magnus and Magnus spread the secrets as readily as he spreads his slender legs.”

Shit.

Leaning in closer, Mimika’s breaths grazed Aveline’s nose, smelling of the kinds of perfumes that would sit bitterly and disgustingly on the tip of one’s tongue. “Do you really think I believe your bullshit story that you didn’t spread your legs for that hunk of a man, too?”

Aveline’s face burned. “I didn’t—”

“You know what he does, though.”

And that was when Aveline stopped.

Her jaw went slack.

Mimika’s face turned smug. “You know what he does, though, don’t you? And do you know what that means, little Aveline Wishwood, the new girl who just so happens to be halfway-pretty?”

Rage burned within Aveline.

She shoved Mimika into the door, and the shelves around them all rattled. “I am more than my looks, Mimika,” she snapped.

A cruel smirk sat upon Mimika’s face, one that held not an ounce of real joy in the slightest. “Are you, Aveline?” She laughed, bitter and shrill. “I mean, you don’t have your family’s money anymore, and it’s not like there’s anything interesting in your fucking personality!”

Aveline’s face burned with fury.

She grabbed Mimika by the shoulders, only for Mimika to shove her in the chest, hitting the shelves with a whack and a rattle and a stabbing of sharp pain shooting down and along her ribs and spine.

“You’re nothing but a slut,” spat Mimika. “You know that man is mine, but you sucked his cock anyway!”

Mimika grabbed Aveline by the face, her talons digging into her cheeks, rough and hard. Despite Aveline’s attempts to flee that grasp, they remained entirely in vain, as Mimika only squeezed harder.

“That man is mine!” exclaimed Mimika. She scratched down Aveline’s face – pain, pain, pain – before releasing her, then grabbing her by the shoulders. “You won’t get away with this, Aveline. You know that, right? I know what he does, and I can do it, too!”

“Get off me!” exclaimed Aveline, trying to shove her back.

She wasn’t as strong as Mimika.

Mimika’s hands moved to Aveline’s throat.

Aveline tried to scream, and—

The door was thrown open.

Dackon’s red hair appeared, more like blood than ever before, reminding Aveline of what he had done, what he had done, what he had done, what he had done, what he had done, what he had done, what he had done, both to save her and before their eyes first locked.

Behind him, the diner was pitch-black and empty, like he had already gotten the customer to vacate the place.

How had he done that?

Somehow, that was all she could think of, even though it could not possibly have been the right priority.

And Mimika had a bloodied hole in her throat.

And Aveline screamed, stumbling backwards.

“Stay there,” said Dackon, “while I deal with her.”

Before Aveline could think to protest, Mimika was yanked back through the doorway, and it was slammed shut behind her.

A moment passed.

Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

And Aveline decided—

—she had to find out what was happening.

***

Aveline only opened the door by a crack, revealing a diner that looked so much duller and so much darker than it ever should have at this hour, and with place, technically, still open. The blinds were all closed, and the only lights that were still on were actively flickering, on and off, on and off, on and off. The vines looked like twisted tendrils from twisted beasts, and the spiralling tree-limbs looked wrenched from the bones and nerves of human bodies.

And the dolls…

…they all looked Aveline’s way.

She stilled, looked between the fairies with their giant eyes and the mermaids with their giant eyes, and centaurs with their giant eyes, and the satyrs with their giant eyes, and dragons with their giant eyes and the elves with their giant eyes and the harpies with their giant eyes.

The dolls and their giant eyes.

Aveline shuddered.

And turned.

And saw that the STAFF ONLY door had been left ajar, though she had never seen it left ajar before, not unless someone was actively standing in the doorway. But nobody was standing in the doorway.

Instead, it was a gaping maw.

Darkness beyond.

Nothing but darkness beyond.

And it invited Aveline inside.

Aveline waited a moment, bathing in the vile stares of the dolls all around her, all of whom with eyes that no longer looked quite so dead, so dead, so dead. In the back of her mind, she suspected they would move if she wasn’t looking right at them all the time.

She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run. She had to run.

But she couldn’t.

Not because she was caged.

But because she did not want to run.

Aveline swallowed, her throat clogged with indescribable nerves, nerves that were so thick and so powerful and so potent that her whole body was bright and red and prickling and raw.

And then she turned, marched to the STAFF ONLY door, and followed the line of blood down the dimly-lit hallway.

The line of blood.

A long, crimson line, the line of a dragged body, though Aveline had never seen a dragged, bleeding body before. That was what led her down the hallway; that was what she had chosen to follow.

The stench of blood was metal and dull.

Sweet, almost, in the way that rotten flowers were sweet.

Aveline lifted her hand and covered her nose, surging onwards, barely avoiding stepping into the blood, the blood, the blood, the blood, the blood, the blood, the blood, that vile and violent blood.

The air was silent.

Thick with the stench of violence, the air was silent.

Aveline surged onwards.

And Aveline reached Dackon’s office, the door half-ajar, exposing dull lighting and the sounds of clinking metal. The stench of sweet violence only grew stronger and softer and stronger.

Aveline’s stomach churned with nausea.

She stepped closer.

Closer. Closer. Closer.

She pushed the door entirely open, and watched as Dackon took a syringe from a drawer in his desk, and plunged it into Mimika’s limp, blood-soaked arm. He filled the syringe with her blood, before pulling it out, and injected the needle into… a soft felt heart?

Aveline watched.

Statue-still.

She had no idea if he knew she was there. But she was glued to the spot. She had to watch him. She had to watch him. She had to watch him. She had to watch him. She had to watch him. She had to watch him. She had to watch him. She had to.

Nothing else mattered more.

Dackon lifted the soft felt heart, and then turned, striding across the room and reaching through a door that had been hidden behind numerous thick leather texts. Within, he removed…

…a doll?

A doll that looked like a vampire, though one that wasn’t particularly threatening, one that children would not fear. A vampire with a long black braid and eyes with thick black lashes.

And Dackon opened the doll’s chest.

Placed the heart inside.

And then locked it in with a key.

He then dressed the doll again, slowly and carefully, gently and kindly, like he really treasured the small, porcelain creature, before he placed it down and tucked its braid behind its pointed ear.

“You weren’t supposed to see this, Aveline,” said Dackon.

Aveline’s heart jolted.

Aveline’s spine straightened.

Aveline shuddered.

Her fingers furled into the tightest of fists, so tight that her nails made crescent-moon indents in her palms, before she took a step into the room, breathing the air of cologne, rot, and blood.

“She’s dead,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.

She knew what she lay her eyes upon.

Curls of pink and black were stained with red.

“And you’re not,” said Dackon.

A moment passed.

Two. Three.

Aveline stepped closer, so close that the door could have shut behind her, and she would only feel the faintest draughts from its movements, if she felt anything at all. “You killed her, just like you’ve killed…”

“Sixteen other people,” said Dackon. “Seventeen, now.”

“Why?”

Dackon watched her, for a brief period.

For the briefest of periods.

“Why not?”

As Aveline’s eyebrows shot upwards, her eyes widening to the point of absurdity, her jaw went slack. “Excuse me?”

“Why not kill people?” asked Dackon, though it didn’t appear to be that much of a question, really. He spoke it like a statement, in that deep, monotone voice of his, so smooth that it was no longer a rumble. “If I can hurt the people I no longer have any use for, and then use their blood to make dolls in my diner, why shouldn’t I?”

Aveline stared.

This man was…

Like nothing she had known.

Like nothing she had never wished to know.

Aveline was an ostrich with its head yanked out of the ground, forced to be face-to-face with a violence so overpowering and cruel that she could not look away: a violence so overpowering and cruel, but that she craved, almost. She could not look away. She had to stare and stare with a jaw so slack she was practically a de-mouthed doll.

“You’re…” she began.

“…serious?” he finished, which was exactly what she was meaning to say. “Yes, I’m quite serious, Aveline. Why wouldn’t I be? I enjoy to feel the slickness of blood between my fingers, the power in my bones, and I more than enjoy putting it all on display. Do I need more of a reason than that, Aveline?”

Did he need more reason that that?

He did.

Of course he did! He needed a hell of a lot more reason than—that that little non-reason, that worthless little non-reason. He could not simply want only to hurt… could he?

Oh… could he?

Aveline’s eyes remained on Dackon.

She did not retreat.

And Dackon took a stride towards her.

Aveline’s heart lurched.

“I am not going to hurt you, Aveline,” said Dackon, and his voice was more of a low whisper than anything else. It held the intonation of a promise, even though it lacked the explicit words themselves.

Still, Aveline furrowed her brow.

“Did you tell Mimika that?”

A smile played upon Dackon’s lips.

Dackon neither confirmed nor rejected the question, nor even made a shrug of a gesture, anything to show affirmation or denial or neutrality at all. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Nothing.

Dackon reached out, and brushed a stray strand of hair behind Aveline’s ear, and she shivered.

“I saved you, didn’t I?”

Aveline stood her ground. “You could have orchestrated this whole affair, as far as I know. I know nothing about you except that you have hurt a great many people, twice of which before my very nose.”

“Both times saved your life.”

Aveline resisted the urge to squirm.

Victory shone in Dackon’s gaze, as he must have seen the uncertainty on her face. “I could have killed them and you,” he said, moving even closer to her, seeming to revel in the fact that she didn’t move away. “Do you think I’m the kind of man to spare somebody I do not want to spare, Aveline Wishwood?”

“No,” said Aveline, and she meant it.

She did not touch him, even when he touched her.

“Are you looking for some reward?” asked Aveline.

“I’m not looking for anything you’re not willing to give,” said Dackon, and it seemed impossible for him to say anything with any more sincerity. “I have no interest in fucking somebody who doesn’t want to worship me like their holy fucking god.”

Aveline’s whole body warmed.

At want point was she to tell him that she was a virgin?

That seemed only to make sense if they… if they… if they…

Aveline swallowed.

Aveline met his gaze.

And Aveline did not want to do anything but lose herself in those captivating eyes, so dangerous but without threat.

She didn’t want to do anything else.

***

Aveline did not know who had begun the kiss, but one moment their eyes were locked together, and the next, her arms were wound around his neck, and her ass was pressed against the side of his desk.

His lips consumed hers.

A kiss that was made of more hunger than care.

Hunger. Hunger. Hunger.

Was he consuming her?

Tongues danced.

Bodies intertwined.

The furthest she’d ever gone before was a kiss.

Her core burned.

Her thighs pressed together.

Her breaths were consumed by his.

He tasted of blood and sex.

Dackon took Aveline by the hips, fingers digging into the bones, and he lifted her up to sit on his desk, leaning against him. His chest pressed against hers, and his lips dragged from her beckoning tongue.

Those lips of his did more than simply dance.

Kisses were pressed upon her jawline.

Nips found the underside of her chin.

She gasped against him, fingers curling in his shirt, begging to rip through and find the taut body within. She would have made the begging sounds, had she not been so preoccupied with whines.

Instinctively, Aveline tilted her head back, giving him room to nip at the column of her throat, to leave marks that she was sure he would regret the next day but couldn’t bear to stop in the moment.

“Good girl,” hissed Dackon against her throat.

The word made a groan of a breath slip from her tongue, and Dackon’s hand rose, pressing against the base of her throat without squeezing. He didn’t cut off blood-flow, nor did he cut off her breaths, but the feel of it, the near-shackle, the faint pressure…

“Please,” Aveline murmured. “I need to—to—”

Dackon chuckled against her throat, then pulled back, taking her by the hands and pinning them to her desk on either side of her legs.

She leant back on them.

Easily, she leant back on them.

Aveline opened herself up to him.

Legs slipped open. A skirt rode up.

Her breasts heaved with every breath.

Dackon looked her over, from her pink face to her half-unbuttoned blouse to the riding-up of her skirt to the half-exposure of her thighs, soft and pale and begging to be clawed apart.

And then Dackon’s hands slid to her thighs, fully pushing up the skirt and exposing the shorts she always wore over her panties. Something flashed in his eyes at the sight of it, before he glanced back up at Aveline, gaze crinkling at the corners in a teasing amusement.

“You’re a good girl, huh?” he said.

Aveline did not know what to say.

What was there to say?

Instead of speaking, she nodded.

She simply nodded.

And Dackon hummed: an odd, rumble of a hum. “Mimika was a brat, liking to be tamed into submission. Do you know how many shifts she didn’t wear panties at all in?” He chuckled.

Aveline’s face flushed warm. “Is… that a problem?”

Another chuckle emerged from Dackon’s lips.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he leant in, learn in between her thighs, and grabbed her shorts between his teeth. He yanked them down, tearing them in the process, and she let out a yelp of a gasp, heat flooding throughout her.

Warmth.

Wetness.

So much wetness in her core.

So much desperation within her.

Aveline’s eyelids fluttered, and that was when Dackon straightened again, letting the skirt half-cover her panties… before he grabbed the thin material by the fist and tore it from her cunt.

She cried out in surprise…

…but with the furthest thing from discomfort.

Fuck.

She’d never done this before.

But she wanted it.

And she wanted it like this.

No, she needed it like this.

Was that insane?

Was she insane?

To fuck her serial-killer boss?

That had to be fucking insane.

But she wanted to do it anyway.

Oh, fuck she wanted it anyway.

Aveline swallowed, hands trembling, before furling them into fists on the desk, leaning back and hoping for him to move the skirt and get a good, proper look at her, at her clit and her hole and the fact that she was so fucking wet and so fucking inexperienced that she had to have been the tightest woman he’d likely ever fucked.

Her eyelids fluttered.

But she watched as Dackon unbuckled his belt.

She watched his trousers open.

She watched him yank his boxers aside.

She watched his long, half-hard, half-weeping cock spring free.

And her eyes widened.

“Will that fit?”

Dackon’s lips curled into a smirk. “Good question.”

And, oh, she wanted to find out just as much as he did.

***

“Where the fuck is Mimika?” asked the singer, Magnus, leaning against the bar whilst flicking through his phone. “She’s late for her shift, and she’s the one that picked the song I’m singing.”

He sighed, bored.

“She’s the only one that’s any fun.” His voice edged into what was almost more of a whine. “I mean, no offense, but you’re a little more… soft and delicate and obedient. You’ve probably never heard a curse in your life, little miss princess, let alone listened to one.”

Aveline’s face burned, but not from the mockery.

Her stomach was in knots.

She had barely managed to cover her hickeys in foundation, as there were so many of them in so many places. Eventually, however, she had managed to do so, and Magnus, at least, had not noticed.

“I don’t know where she is,” said Aveline.

Magnus chuckled: an odd sound.

He glanced up from his phone, catching Aveline’s eye. “I bet you’re glad she’s gone. You’re fucking the boss now, right? Mimika never liked to share, though… between you and me…”

Magnus leant in closer.

Instinctively, Aveline turned her ear to him.

And Magnus whispered, “me and Andirna got into his pants a few times, you know? We fucked him on the side, and, fuck, the man’s got a good cock. Do you know how good it tastes yet?”

Not yet.

Soon, she hoped.

She almost salivated at the thought, and had to actively keep her tongue from sliding along her salivating lips.

Magnus noticed, clearly, and Magnus chuckled. He then leant back again, returning his gaze to his phone. “Mimika’s not the first disposable fuck-buddy he’s abandoned when he’s done with them.”

Aveline froze.

A moment passed.

Two. Three.

And then her eyes widened, and she shifted closer to Magnus. “Wait, what are you talking about?” she hissed.

This time, Magnus didn’t look up from his phone, continuing to text and continuing to scroll. “There’s been Lyrye and Ocellia and Lucah, who was the motherfucker who stuck around the longest, and Hydrangea and Blak and Trem and, fuck, the man’s a whore. He’s almost more of a whore than me! Can you believe it? Damn.”

Magnus laughed.

He really laughed.

Finally, he switched off his phone, before stuffing it back into his pocket. “I haven’t seen any of them since they were fired. I guess he pulled some strings and handed them over to some friend. Funny, huh?”

Not at all.

***

Aveline lay in Dackon’s bed, her body bare as the day she had come into being, but covered with a thick, faded blanket, almost relishing in its comfort, despite the growing chill in her bones. The mattress was a cozy old beast, and Aveline wondered how many people had slumbered with it… and how many of those people had met Mimika’s fate.

Aveline was going to die.

As Aveline lay in Dackon’s bed, he slumbered right beside her, snoring with the gentleness of a beast that would never hurt a soul, even though Dackon was a beast who had hurt many a soul.

He had hurt many and many and many a soul.

Aveline was going to die.

Silent in her chill, beyond her bones and within them, Aveline rested in Dackon’s bed, rested in a serial killer’s bed. The sheets were worn, but clean… though who knew what blood had stained them?

Aveline was going to die.

The walls were grimy and the cabinet with every vial of blood was locked, though she had no interesting in going after them anyway. And there were dolls everywhere throughout the room.

Or… pieces of dolls, at least.

Aveline was going to die.

Like all the lovers before.

Aveline was going to die.

Was she going to be next?

Aveline was going to die.

Aveline could not sleep.

Aveline was going to die.

Aveline lay in Dackon’s bed.

And then Aveline sat up.

And then Aveline lurched out of bed.

She darted out of the basement as silently as she could, sparing numerous glances back over her shoulder, just to ensure Dackon wasn’t following. And he was not.

His eyes were closed.

His chest rose and fell.

His snores were maintained.

And he slumbered.

Aveline darted out of the basement as silently as she could, until she was in the office. And when she was in his office, she searched violently through his desk drawers, finding papers and trinkets and ink-pens aplenty. Too many ID cards, for one thing.

Few held the name Dackon.

Most were differently decorated.

Constantly, she looked desperately back over her shoulder, checking for him and checking for him and checking for him… but she did not see him. She did not see him. She did not see him.

But she often saw the dolls.

So many of them.

Far more than he had claimed.

And as she searched for something, something, anything… she found so many vials of blood that her hands started to shake, started to shake, started to shake, started to tremble like she had been doused in ice-water now and would be doused in ice-water forever.

Until she found what she was looking for.

A lighter.

A bottle of vodka.

And a lighter

And Aveline darted out of the office.

Into the diner.

And blocked the STAFF ONLY door.

***

The diner burned with Dackon inside.

And Aveline watched from a distance.

Her heart thudded and thudded and thudded.

The diner burned with Dackon inside, the orange flames licking at the sky like a herd of children licking at the biggest lollipop known to man. And Aveline watched at a distance so close that she almost set her flesh aflame, her skin coated in more sweat than a sinner in church.

Her heart thudded like a drum in her chest.

And she watched at a distance.

Until a shadow emerged from the back.

A new tale is to be posted every two months, spanning different genres and different characters every time... all part of one multiverse, though no context is ever needed to enjoy any of the stories as standalones!

Comment if you'd like to be tagged going forward!

And enjoy this book if the characters already intrigue you...

#49ibr

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#49ibr