in his hand, a knife that looks strikingly similar to the others. mimicking a weeping face, he rubs at his eyes mockingly. he wishes to enrage the other, wanting to see him get worked up over the fact that he has stolen his kill. does he feel guilty for it? not at all, in fact he is quite prideful. while he knows that the other had been chasing after this one for some time, he'd beaten him to the punch. not - so hard when he was eager as ever.
﹙ 𝕸. ﹚
❝ OH. ❞ a nonchalant yet MELODIOUS voice came out of the mask . the tone inside sounded POETIC , but flowing through the material , it verged on harshness . he was not a typical murderer . he wanted to kill , but fun was the pedestal of the whole process of sowing DESTRUCTION . the clown ? he had met many of them , but none that EXCITED him so much . his whole body trembled with emotion , and his fingers tightened on the knife . ❝ what will you do, snowflake ? ❞ he was losing control of his nerves , inconsolable that he had failed to kill another person . the momentary elation of cutting through the old woman's body was not ENOUGH . what would it taste like to kill a clown ? what would he look like during evisceration ? ❝ when i widen your smile with a knife stained with the dried blood of a previous victim ? ❞ he giggled madly , straightening his body .
