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Caspian
I scan the counter before me, meticulously taking inventory of my instruments.
The room is filled with an eerie silence, punctuated only by the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. My gaze shifts toward the metal table that dominates the center of the room, where Dolly lies restrained. Thick leather straps bind her wrists and ankles to the cold, unforgiving corners of the table, rendering her completely immobilized.
Dolly’s body appears tense, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and defiance. Her attempts to struggle against the restraints are futile, and her muffled protests barely register.
As I approach the table, a myriad of emotions swirl within me.
The path I have chosen, the path of retribution, is one saturated with moral ambiguity.
Yet, I cannot deny the visceral satisfaction that courses through my veins as I stand face-to-face with the embodiment of cruelty and malice.
My lips curl into a grin.
I have waited too fucking long for this.
“Some say that revenge is a dish best served cold,” I remark with a chilling calmness in my voice.
I grab a nearby bucket filled with ice-cold water and without hesitation, pour the icy water over Dolly’s face.
The shock causing her to convulse and gasp for air. Her body contorts in a desperate attempt to escape the onslaught, but the restraints hold her firmly in place.
The sound of her labored breaths and choked sputtering reverberates in the room, drowned out only by the steady dripping of water onto the unforgiving floor.
It’s music to my fucking ears.
The assault continues until the bucket is emptied, leaving Dolly drenched, shivering, and utterly drained. I release the bucket, and it clangs against the floor loudly.
“But those who said that were human after all, and they had a human lifespan to get revenge. Hundreds of years is a long time to consider the ways to exact revenge. Don’t you think?” I remark, the corners of my lips curl into a cold, calculated smile.
“You see, Dolly, time has been my most trusted ally. While your actions may have brought pain and suffering to countless lives, they have also sown the seeds of your own destruction. Revenge, in its truest form, requires patience and meticulous planning,” I explain, relishing in the power I hold over her.
Her breath hitches, a tremor coursing through her restrained body.
This is it.
This is the moment when she realizes that her death will not be quick or merciful.
It will be a slow, methodical descent into the depths of her darkest nightmares.
“Revenge is not a race, Dolly,” I conclude, my tone cold and final. “It is a meticulously choreographed symphony of suffering, and I am its conductor. Your time has come, and I assure you, the wait has only sharpened the edge of my vengeance.”
She glares at me with her icy blue eyes. “I did what needed to be done, Caspian,” she retorts defiantly.
“Ah, ah, ah,” I wag my finger back and forth, my smile widening at her feeble attempt to justify her actions.
Her lips snap shut, a flicker of fear crossing her face, and I chuckle softly to myself. The sound echoes through the room as I retrieve the bucket, purposefully moving toward the sink.
With deliberate movements, I turn on the faucet and let the water rush in, filling it to the brim.
“You see, Dolly,” I continue, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Actions have consequences. The choices we make can shape the lives of others, for better or for worse.”
With deliberate slowness, I turn back toward her, the bucket of water held firmly in my grasp. On the way to the table, I snatch the cloth on the counter and her eyes widen into saucers. The struggle within her intensifies, and her attempts to free herself become more frantic.
The air in the room feels heavy with anticipation, and I can sense her mounting terror.
Good.
