"So, Dark. I've noticed that you like torture. So, what's your favourite method?" Ember grinned as she walked into the room, her leather jacket being straightened by pale hands before the red head leans against the wall. Anger masked by curiosity gleams in the figment's eyes as fire dances through orange irises.
Dark drummed his fingertips against the end of his chin, vaguely enjoying the memory of bellowing wails, creaking chains, the struggling of human flesh attempting desperately to be freed. It was so incredible how many different ways there was to say ‘please’, breathed or moaned or screamed or choked. So many possibilities, so many ways to unravel someone’s inner fears, and weaknesses.
But yet among all of it, among the physical pleasure of being in control, Dark found one thing above all else to be truly, wickedly delicious.
“Making people believe things to be true, only to slowly widdle away that reality, is something that I specialize in.”
He smiled sardonically.
“To implant securities that are truly insecure, to uphold values in others that actually don’t exist, it is a delight to see the realization begin to seep into a fragile mortal mind long after it’s too late. To see that fading light as they understand what lies have swallowed them. To be trapped. To need me to free them. That is the prime.”
