#I haven’t drawn inkwell in ages man

[shadowfox-sketchbook-258]

Back on my cookie run bullshit for a limited time (the limited time is to be determined)

[lovexthexflash]

Five Years to Sin

by me (lovexthexflash)

Chapter 3

The fight day

  – “Beg your pardon, Lord Tarley.”

  Barry paused with his foot on the first step of Gentlemen’s Club „S.T.A.R.“ and turned his head to find a coachman standing off to the side with his hat in his hands.

  – “Yes?”

  – “My lady begs a moment of your time, if you would be so kind.”

  Looking past the coachman’s shoulder, Barry noted the hackney waiting nearby with curtains drawn over the windows. His pulse quickened with hope and expectation. The occupant could be any overly bold debutante, he supposed, but he wanted it to be Iris.

  With a nod, he acknowledged the summons and approached the equipage. He paused directly outside the door.

  – “Can I be of service?”

  – “Barry, get in, please.”

  He almost smiled, but refrained. Opening the door, he climbed in and took the squab across from Iris. Her perfume filled the enclosed space. While the sunlight was strong enough to filter through the curtains and offer enough illumination to see, the sense of illicit intimacy was overpowering.

  And surely contained entirely within his own mind.

  At least he thought so, until he saw the handkerchief she smoothed over her lap. She had given him a kerchief once before, as a sign of her maidenly esteem when he’d played at being a knight in shining armor. Ages ago. Another lifetime.

  – “Have you come to give me a token to carry into battle?” – he asked, forcing levity into his tone.

  She stared at him for a long moment, looking fragile and beautiful in a pelisse of soft green trimmed in a darker color he couldn’t quite determine in the semidarkness. She sighed.

  – “I cannot alter your mind about this, can I?”

  Her sorrowful tone prompted him to lean forward. He was struck by the change in her; the weight of unhappiness suppressed the vibrant spirit she was best known for.

  – “Why does a simple boxing match worry you so?”

  Her gloved hands clenched and unclenched in her lap.

  – “Regardless of who wins or loses, it will not end well.”

  – “Iris...”

  – “Eddie will likely begin the match playfully,” – she said without inflection. – “but as your skill becomes apparent, he will become more focused. If he cannot best you, he may succumb to his temper. Be careful should that happen. His technique will slip and he will fight to win, perhaps not cleanly.”

  A pistol’s report could not have jolted Barry more violently.

  – “I would say none of this to anyone else.” – Her chin lifted, reinforcing her quiet dignity. – “But I suspect you’ll be more deliberate in the ring. Levelheaded. You will follow the rules of the sport, and that, I fear, will preclude you from anticipating the most injurious blows.”  

  – “Succumb to his temper with whom?” – He had no right to ask, but he couldn’t withhold the question any longer. – “Are you mistreated, Iris?”

  – “Worry about you.” – she admonished, managing a smile that did little to alleviate his suspicions. – “You’re the one about to engage in fisticuffs.”

  And he was ferociously eager for that engagement to begin, more so now than just a few moments ago when he’d simply been looking forward to it. Iris held out the kerchief to him, but yanked it back when he moved to accept.

  – “You have to promise to call on me, if you want this.”

  – “Extortion.”– he said hoarsely, seeing the answer to his question in her evasion. His blood was boiling. She thought he would be deliberate and levelheaded? He was far from it.

  – “Coercion.” – Iris corrected. – “Just so that I may see for myself that you are not unduly damaged.”

  Barry’s jaw clenched against undeniable helplessness. There was no way for him to intercede. What a man did with his wife was his own affair.

  – “I promise to visit you.”

  – “Before a week is out.” – she persisted, her brown eyes narrowed in silent admonishment.

  – “Yes.” – He accepted the kerchief with fierce possessiveness. A beautifully rendered “I” in the corner made the token even more personal. – “Thank you.”

  – “Be careful. Please.”

  With a curt nod, he exited the hackney.  

 * * *

 Gentlemen’s Club „S.T.A.R.“

    Barry knew from the broad grin with which Eddie started the fight that the other man believed he would win. Although physical pain was the least of what the earl deserved, Barry decided humiliation would be the longer lasting punishment. He feinted around a few exploratory punches from Eddie, then channeled all his fruitless love for Iris and his hatred for her unworthy husband into a single solid blow. Lord Thawne crashed, unconscious, onto the hardwood less than a minute into the match.

 * * *

    Iris’s breathing quickened as she entered her parlor. Barry stood when she swept in, his green eyes heating with masculine appreciation. She basked in that warmth, allowing it to thaw the frozen recesses of her heart.

  – “You waited the entirety of the sennight before keeping your promise to call on me.” – she accused.

  A faint tinge of sadness marred the smile he gave her.

  – “My mother suggested I wait.”

  – “Ah.” – She sat on the settee across from him. – “She is a wise woman.”

  – “She likes you.”

  – “The affection is mutual.” – Iris smoothed her skirts, feeling unaccountably nervous. – “How are you?”

  – “I’ve been half–mad with the need to ask that question of you. You spoke of some things when I last saw you. I feared I might have aggravated … that I caused you unnecessary …” – He scrubbed a hand over his face. – “Christ!”

  – “I’m well, Barry.”

  – “Are you?” – His hand fell to his lap, and his gaze sharpened. – “I should have let him win. I was too arrogant—too angry—to do so. I should have been thinking of you.”

  Iris’s heartbeat thudded in a strong, steady rhythm as if revived. In truth she felt more alive in Barry’s presence than she had in many years.

  – “You were thinking of me, were you not?”

  He tensed, then flushed.

  – “Whatever promise you made to my friend to look after me,” – Iris went on. – “I doubt she expected you to take the responsibility to such lengths. But I’m touched that you did. You didn’t answer my question about how you’re faring.”

  Barry exhaled harshly and resumed his seat.

  – “As well as can be expected, under the circumstances. I never realized how many tasks Malcolm faced. He bore them all with quiet efficiency. I have yet to figure out how he managed. He must have found more hours in the day than have been allotted to me.”

  – “He had a wife to support his efforts.”

  – “By God, if one more individual posits that a spouse will alleviate all my burdens, I cannot be held responsible for my reply.”

  Iris laughed softly, secretly and horribly pleased to hear that finding a wife was not high on Barry’s list of priorities.

  – “You don’t believe you would find a wife helpful?”

  – “I am barely keeping my own head above water. I haven’t the faintest idea of how I would care for a spouse at this time.”

  – “I want you to find a wife who will care about you. It shan’t be hard. You are very easy to adore.”

  – “If only you spoke from experience.” – he said quietly.

  – “I do, of course.”

  – “Of course.” – His beautiful mouth twisted wryly.

  – “More than I realized.” – she confessed. – “More fool I.”

  – “Iris...” – Surprise swept over his features, followed swiftly by stark despair.

  How had she missed the signs that Barry carried a tendre for her? She had been blinded by Eddie’s rakish charm and the sensual spell he wove so well. By the time they wed, she’d been desperate for the consummation of their union, aroused to a fever pitch by clandestine touches, ravenous kisses, and hotly whispered promises of boundless pleasure.

  – “We shall find you someone who loves you madly.” – she said hoarsely. – “Someone whose primary concern is your happiness and pleasure.”

  – “She would resent me after a time.”

  – “No. You will reciprocate her affections soon enough. You won’t be able to help yourself. And then you shall live in contentment ever after, as you deserve. So let’s narrow the list I assisted your mother with.”

  Iris stood, and he stood with her. Moving to the escritoire by the window, she opened it and withdrew a sheet of foolscap. She settled onto the wooden seat and opened her inkwell.

  – “You can list desirable attributes, and I will record them.”

  – “I should rather go to the tooth drawer’s.”

  She assumed her most formidable expression.

  – “Blast. Not that look, Iris, please. I thought you liked me.”

  – Tall or short?

  – Tall.

  Iris's mouth twisted as she looked down at her short legs.

  – “Eye color?”

  – “Not brown.”

  – “Hair color?”

  – “Not brown.”

  – “Right.” – Dear God, she wanted to cry.

  He crossed his arms and arched a brow.

  – “Have to give the gel a fighting chance. Wouldn’t be sporting otherwise.”

  Iris laughed softly.

  – “Slender or voluptuous?”

  – “Proportional is all I ask.”

  – “Any particular talents?” – she queried, glancing at him as he approached.

  He moved with such economical grace and confidence that she couldn’t stop herself from watching. Barry drew to a halt beside her, resting his arm along the top of the escritoire.

  – “Such as?”

  – “Singing? The pianoforte?”

  – “I truly don’t care about such things. I will follow your discretion.”

  Iris looked at him, her gaze taking in his smartly dressed form.

  – “Green flatters you, my lord. I can say in all honesty that no other gentleman wears the hue better.”

  His eyes sparkled.

  – “Thank you, my lady.”

  The warm pleasure on his face arrested her, freezing her in a moment weighted with impossible possibilities. She struggled to find the will to break the sudden tension and ended up with irrelevant discourse spoken in a throaty voice:

  – “I am a terrible hostess. The tea is getting cold.”

  But she didn’t move. He was close enough that she could smell the verbena from his toiletries. It mixed wonderfully with his personal scent, creating an invigorating and enticing fragrance.

  – “I don’t care.” – he murmured. – “I will enjoy the company regardless.”

  – “I danced my first waltz with you.” – she said, remembering.

  – “My feet are still recovering, I fear.”

  Her mouth fell open in exaggerated affront:

  – “I followed your lead flawlessly!”

  He grinned.

  – “Don’t you remember?” – she pressed.

  She’d wanted him to be her first public partner because she trusted him and felt safe with him. She had known he might tease her, but only good–naturedly, and he would make the whole torturous first experience fun. He’d led her so well and kept her too engaged to fret, so that she left the dance floor with a feeling of triumph. She hadn’t felt so good about herself in years.

  – “As if I could ever forget any moment when you’d been in my arms.” – he said softly.

  Clinging to those phantom feelings, she pushed to her feet so quickly, she upended the chair. She caught him by the lapels and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was swift and chaste, a show of gratitude for reminding her of the bold and vivacious girl she used to be.

  She pulled away, blushing:

  – “I’m sorry.”

  Barry stood rooted, his dark green eyes hot and avid: 

  – “I’m not.”

  He grabbed her shoulders and kissed her again. This time he was more insistent. Her lips were even more tempting than he had dared to imagine. He tasted each separately, then slid tongue between them. She responded to the kiss with a kiss, to the hunger with hectic hunger. When he penetrated inward with his tongue, her mouth dissolved and softened beneath his. That was all what Barry wanted. Closeness, warmth, affection. She kissed him as a long–lost lover who was welcoming him home.

  Dear God! Dear God!

  He sipped her lips, desperate for more. Not able to pull himself away from her, he pressed her against the wall. For a long time hunger had been locked in him. He could not deny the powerful, fiery response of his body – not when his cock was throbbing in vain in his pants.

  God, he felt alive. Totally alive. The kiss shook him to the heel.

There was nothing but the feeling of her hot, flexible body against his, the taste of her lips, the scent of honeysuckle from her hair and the sound of her hasty breathing in his ears.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. She didn’t move them anymore for the simple pleasure of knitting her fingers on his neck and passing them through his hair. He smelled so good. So usually and so manly. Besides, he seemed to burn. It was as if he was made of heat. He emitted heat through his thirsty arms, his hard chest, his lips.

  Oh, his lips!

  It was the most exciting, intoxicating part. He pressed her against the wall and kissed her deeper, more urgently.

  In her excitement, she pressed her chest against his, then she rubbed it, and her thigh was pressed against his hard, swollen masculinity.

  He tore his lips from hers with a groan and dared to do what he was craving. He ran his lips over her neck, biting her flesh gently with his teeth. She moaned with pleasure, buried her fingers in his hair and held him close to her.

 His body was burning for her, and he could not think of anything except to have her.Iris pressed shameless lips to his jaw, enjoying the taste and sensation of his masculine skin. Iris felt him tremble as he pushed his hand over her right breast and gently squeezed it. She made a sudden movement with the magical sensation that passed through her, and her bitterly–sweet torture only grew when he reached her chest and bowed his head to the low–cut decolletage of her dress to kiss the flesh just above the tight peak.

  Oh, that’s wonderful. She thought she might faint with pleasure.

  Barry moaned of the feeling of her breast's weight in his hand and her firm grain in his palm as he moved his lips to taste her ear. He sent shivers on her skin with his tongue as he cursed the fabric that prevented him from touching her everywhere. Iris covered his face with her hands as she enjoyed the sensation of his body, which pressed her against the wall. She had never felt something so incredible.

  Only vaguely aware that he was lifting the hem of the dress. He ran his hands over her naked butt, burning her skin with heat and pleasure. And before she realized what he was doing, he slipped his hand between them and gently split her smooth flesh to touch her.

  – “Oh, Barry.” – she groaned as his fingers relieved the pain in the center of her body, and she instinctively rubbed into his palm. Barry hissed out a breath between his teeth, his body fairly vibrating with tension. Iris take his hand and directed him to her bedroom:

  – “Iris…” – he said, the warning note in his tone unmistakable.

  – “What?” – All innocence, she trailed the edge of her nail against his skin, leaving a path of goose bumps behind. “No one can see us. We are all alone, just you and I. Have you not dreamed of this moment?”

  – “A thousand times,” – he replied raggedly.

  Iris arched one eyebrow.

  – “Just a thousand? Well, we will have to change that, will we not? Make love to me, Barry. Make love to me as if you never want to let me go.”

  – “This is a terrible idea,” – he said.

  – “I know,” – Iris whispered, but she didn’t move.

  On a savage oath, he pressed his lips to hers.

  There was a fire within him, burning from the inside out. The flames licked away his inhibitions. Scorched his doubts. There were no what ifs. There were no questions. There was only lust and love and Iris.

  – “Take me,” – she pleaded, breaking free to nip at his neck where his pulse fluttered. – “Take me, Barry. Here. Now.”

  Pushing his doubts aside he fell upon her, tearing the sheer fabric of her gown away to expose the thin chemise that lay beneath. Her dusky nipples were clearly visible and, gently guided by her knowing hands, he lowered his head to suckle first one and then the other until Iris cried out his name.

  With a growl Barry reared up and ripped her chemise open, tearing the delicate stays until her breasts spilled forth, her nipples already damp and glistening in the afternoon sun. She writhed beneath him, her clever fingers reaching down, down, down until she was able to slip beneath the waistband of his trousers and stroke along his hardened length.

  He trembled, his palms splaying flat across the ground as he braced himself against the heat that clutched greedily at him, threatening to spill his seed before his cock ever felt the silken wetness of her vagina.

  Barry found the core of her and easily slipped one finger inside to stroke.

  – “You’re so wet.”

  – “Ooooh, Barry… Yes… Keeping doing… Yes, just like that.”

  He joined another finger with the first, thrusting back and forth until Iris writhed beneath him, tossing her head from side to side in mindless pleasure. She strained against his hold on her wrists, frustration showing in the set of her mouth and the little line that creased her forehead. Suddenly she stiffened, her eyes slanting closed, her lips parting…

  Barry felt the heart of her vagina clenching as she teetered on the edge, but he denied her release with a low chuckle as his fingers withdrew. The power of controlling the uncontrollable surged through him like a lightening strike, and even when Iris’s eyes widened in distress and she begged him to touch her, to take her, to ravish her, he took dark delight in bringing her to the brink again and again, only to deny what she craved at the last second.

  Only when she had been reduced to mewling little pants of breath and her body was a quivering mass of unsatisfied arousal did he remove his pants and release her wrists. She was on him in an instant, her nails clawing down his back to his buttocks as her teeth found his ear and nipped painfully.

   He allowed her to roll them over until she straddled his hips, her wild mane raining down like a golden curtain as she lowered her mouth to tease his nipples. Using her tongue, she began to trace a path down his body, licking and nibbling as she went until his breathing was ragged and every muscle in his body was tensed well before she took him into her mouth.

  – “Bloody hell.” – he gasped, letting his head fall back.

  He buried his fingers in her hair, coaxing her on even as he readied himself to tear her away. With a cat licking the cream little smile she slithered up his body and the naughty things she whispered in his ear as she positioned her sex over his aching cock caused his jaw to clench and his hands to curl into fists.

  Rearing back she plunged herself upon him, her breasts bouncing as she rode him up and down. He cupped her hips, urging her on, and when she cried out and he felt her wetness clench tight around his cock he came with a shout, thrusting into her again and again, until lightening truly did seem to strike the sky and thunder rumbled in the distance.

  Iris lay sprawled across Barry’s chest, eyes closed, limbs heavy, simply listening to his heart beat. His chest rose and fell in time with his breaths.

  – “You have to go.” – Iris said, – “Soon Eddie will get home.”

  – “Yeah. Goodbye, Iris.”

  – “Goodbye, Barry.” 

[wishingawayreality-blog]

Author’s Note: My friend gave me a and a few others some prompts for Halloween. This is my submission. :3

Prompt: "The man leans into you. There is a dark red almost black color to the whites of his eyes. He is so close his nose is almost touching your nose. You can feel his breath when he says, “We all have it in here. We are all infected."

Trigger Warnings: Death, hints of kidnapping, murder, feelings of loneliness.

Day One



I don’t know how I got here, but I suspect it was something sinister that led me here. No. I know it was. The house didn’t resemble anything from a horror book, with it’s light orange paint and baby pink trim. It stood as a tall reminder of how elegant America was back in the abhorrent days of slavery.

And maybe that’s what made me question things, that stark reminder of how appearances can be deceiving and the most pleasant of looks often house something darker beyond our imaginations. Yet despite the unease that cut into my stomach, I found myself unable to halt my approach up those three creaking steps and to the front door. It opened with an invisible force, leading into a darkness that consumed even the shadows of the night. The floor groaned beneath me, proving to be more brittle with age than the outside appearance first suggested.

I felt the fog in my head grow thicker until I could barely recognize that I was in a house. That was when he appeared. He leaned into me, a hand snaking around my waist. Despite the darkness that surrounded me and the blank slate my mind became, I noticed the dark red, almost black color, to the whites of his eyes, magnified by the pale skin of his face and the shining amber of his irises. He leaned in so close that our noses almost touched. For a moment, I thought I could feel his breath, but now that I write this, I know that it wasn’t his breath. It was merely the vibrations of his words.

“We all have it in here. We are all infected.”

Then I woke up, with a chill draft wafting over me. The man’s words circled in my head for several minutes after I found myself in a bed that wasn’t mine. I began to wonder how many there were, and what this infection was. Despite a new ache in my neck and a heaviness in my limbs, I felt well. Prior to having come to the house, despite the strange cloudiness in my mind, I felt just fine as well. But the man’s strange eyes still haunted my mind and I dared not to wander away, though eventually I would have to return home. 

I will try in the morning. For the meantime, I wanted to document everything that happened to me in a journal I found on the bedside. The beginning pages are torn out, but in case I do fall ill, I want others to know of it. It strikes me as a strange ailment, if it turns one’s eyes the same color as the man’s, and not one spoken of in the world. Perhaps one day my own documentation will be important.

Day Two

I write this with a shaking hand from an ice cold chill that surrounds every fiber of my being. I have indeed fallen ill, but with what, I do not know. I can only speak to the symptoms that ail me. I wish to say that they’ve been prominent ever since this morning, but I have no means of telling the time of day. The house is shrouded in an impossible darkness, and went I went to open the curtains earlier, the sun stung like a million ants tearing through my body in every way, so I promptly shut it again.

I have had a hacking cough since awaking this morning, however, which only seems to grow worse as the day progresses. It started out as merely a cough, as one would have with a chest cold, but has begun to include blood. It has even, on occasion, been in congealed masses as if my lungs hold some unknown cut that can’t quite clot. I first thought that perhaps I had tuberculosis, and some doctor foreign to me had diagnosed it and sent me to a home to be under quarantine.

This wouldn’t explain the man’s strange eyes. Mine own I cannot see, because there are no mirrors in this hellish home. But I also realized that we have a cure now, one that I believe works no matter what stage of the illness, and as I had shown no symptoms, I surely could have been cured. 

Awhile after waking up, I began to throw up. At first it was the usual bile from an empty stomach, though I felt no real nausea. Now it has become something black and smells like the sulfur of a demon. I fear I am dying, and at a quicker rate than I could have ever imagined. All day I’ve bounced between panic and acceptance. In the panic, I have cried out for help from my housemate. I’m so scared, and I don’t wish to be alone. He didn’t seem too friendly, but surely he at least knows how to survive the illness. And any company is better than none. I just don’t want to be alone...

He did not come at my calling, though. I attempted to leave my room, but the illness has left me weak and cripples me when the bouts of coughing or vomiting come up. I am to die alone, and it scares me. I don’t know where I am, I don’t know what I am ill with, I don’t know if my loved ones are alright. In the quiet, and the dark, and the pain of this illness, I’ll succumb to the quiet solitude of death. I have no idea what lies in store for me beyond, but I’m not ready to leave.

My cellphone is missing, there is no phone in this room. I’m scared. I just want someone to help me. I can’t do this alone. I wish these words reached more than just the paper. I don’t even have my wallet. Will anyone come for my body, or am I here to rot with the ill? Who knows how many others have died here?

Please. Someone. Find me. Please… I don’t want to die alone. I don’t want to rot here. Please find me…

Day Three?

I don’t know how long I was asleep. It feels like years, perhaps even longer. When I first awoke, I felt nothing. Everything feels strange; I couldn’t even remember what happened to me until I read this journal. Am I still ill? I don’t feel sick at all. I don’t feel cold. In fact, everything feels almost unbearably hot. Prior to reading this journal, I went to open the curtains. The sun poured in, and whatever I may have, or however it may have changed me, I don’t think I can ever go outside again. I felt as if I was in a furnace, as if my insides were burning their way out of me. Instinct must have guided me to close the curtains, because I don’t believe I could have willed myself to do so.

Since I am feeling better, I’ve decided to explore a bit more. I can hear a dull thumping, a rhythmic beat. At first, I thought it was muffled music from somewhere deeper within the house, but it hasn’t stopped, and the rhythm may change randomly. I cannot identify where it’s coming from, but I’m too scared to leave the floor I’m on. There are four rooms on this level. Mine and three others that appear to be uninhabited. I cannot find my mysterious housemate and there are no signs of anyone else here. How many of us truly are infected? Has he kidnapped me and done some torturous experiment on me? Am I poisoned?

I still cannot find a mirror. I did try to shower, fearing the stench I may carry from being ill and sleeping for who knows how long, but the water does not seem to work from any faucet I’ve tried. Which brings me to my next mystery; I am neither hungry nor thirsty, though I know I haven’t had anything to eat or drink in a great while. Perhaps I am already dead and a specter, and this world I now inhabit is some strange in between where I only think I’m interacting with the things around me?

Before I could attempt to muster the courage for further explanation, a shrill scream shook me to my core. It pierced through my head like a hot knife through butter. It caused me no pain, but the sheer pitch was uncomfortable. I retreated to my room after that and haven’t left since. I don’t know what caused it, but something makes me feel that it’s not a sound that brings good omens.

I’m going to have to find a way out of here, since I’m still alive, but I feel it’s my duty to find out what secrets are hidden here. If I can save someone else… Actually, I’m not sure I care to save anyone else. I simply feel drawn to something in this house. Perhaps it’s the man that greeted me?

Oh, another mystery. I seem to not be breathing? I only realized it writing these words. My chest no longer heaves up and down and there’s an emptiness there. It may just be that my breathing is too shallow from whatever is happening to me but I feel nothing there. I can’t even hear my own heartbeat. I am… empty.

Day Four

I… cannot. I don’t know what to say about the horrors I saw today.

Today, I chose to explore. I managed to pull some courage out of… whatever sort of soul I have. I wanted to find the beating, the shrill noises. I need answers. If I am to die, if this journal is to help anyone, I need to know what this is. Take this journal, whomever shall find this, and learn the symptoms. Know when you are sick, and find a cure.

But I digress.

I went to the first floor of this home, and still no other signs of a living being presented themselves to me. So I continued on, checking each room. There’s a study, with a large oak desk, a quill and inkwell, and books that line the walls. I decided I wanted to know a bit more about whoever owned this place, or whoever set it up. The books were all old. Some of them date back to the 1600s, yet they’re in perfect condition. I couldn’t find anything more modern, anything that I might be familiar with. The most recent I found was from the 1940s.

I searched the desk, but found nothing, not even a pen or piece of paper. That room connected to another room, which opened to the hallway. It appeared to be a living room, with old decor. There is no television or radio that I can find anywhere. None of the doors were locked, though none of the rooms looked lived in. Not a single bed sheet was ruffled, and not a single item of personal value. I wondered, who else lived here? Who else was infected? I didn’t know I would find my answer in the most horrendous way.

I entered the kitchen next, and everything is empty. There are china dishes but no food or dirty dishes, there is no dishwasher. I clearly remember the house appearing to be from the 1800s when I approached on my first night, but it truly seems to be from the 1800s, without any modernization. The floor is intact enough, though wallpaper peels and paint chips. The wood is faded, but nothing seems hazardous. From the laundry room, I found a set of stairs that descended to the basement.

In this basement are four women, all of them chained to the wall. Standing around one, with her throat slit and the deepest of red blood pouring from the wound in her neck, were three others. I recognized the man who greeted me the first day; he turned to me with those dark red and amber eyes. A grin parted his lips and I noticed the charm in his aura. His dark hair contrasted from that snowy complexion. The fog in my head seemed to return.

The other two, I barely took note of as the horror of what stood before me broke through the haze. A young girl, with blonde hair and pale skin. The blood pooled on the floor and I noticed the second man had a tint of that same red on his pink lips and on his fingertips. And then it hit me, that sweet smell like honey.

I could feel it, a longing and a sudden hunger worse than any I’ve felt before. I wanted it, whatever it was that caused that scent. It filled the air like smoke and my body felt a jolt of pain. “Come,” the third member beckoned. She looked different from the others. Her dark skin made those same dark red eyes sink into them. Only instead of amber orbs hidden in the darkness, a pale blue bounced back. There is no way to describe her beauty or the grace with which she offered her hand to me.

I don��t know how long I stood there before I realized; they wanted me to enjoy their murderous intent as well.

And then I was at the door. I don’t know how I made it up the stairs and found my way to the front door in a place I don’t even know, but before I even made it, the three blocked my path. My host stood directly in front of me, with the other man and the beautiful woman next to either side of me. What once I saw as charm and grace now looked wild, as if they were wolves and I a rabbit about to be torn apart.

The shadows of the house seemed to suffocate me as I stood there. And I realized my heart was not beating, as I should have felt the racing of my fear. Instead, the emptiness lingered.

My host reached his hand out, his fingers brushing the bottom of my chin. “You’ll learn,” he whispered. “We’re all infected…” The woman touched me next, placing her fingers to my forehead.

And then I awoke once more in bed with the vision of that girl against the wall. Her clothes stained an almost brown and that sweet, sweet smell lingering in my mind. I want it. I must find the source of that smell. Whatever it is in the basement, whatever they have done. I must know.

Though I know it is wrong and it is horrendous… I cannot say I’m sorry for the girl. I cannot say I felt bad for them. All I can say is that my upbringing has taught me better, but I don’t care to save them. Have I become so concerned about my own wellbeing? I don’t relate to them. There’s something else. Something lingering. I am not me.

Day Five

I have tasted the honey.

This is no infection. It’s a death, my death. And in my living death, I have performed the ultimate sin.

I killed the second girl. I ripped her throat out with that very hunger I’ve never felt before. For a moment, I could feel my heart beating and I partook that breath that was missing. It filled my emptiness. There was relief from this infernal heat.

I am not ashamed, because there is nothing to be ashamed about.

She told me that, the beautiful woman. As I ravaged the second girl, she told me it was the way things had to be. If we are to survive, if we are to cure ourselves, we must partake of the blood of the living. It’s simple. And I agree.

I did not choose to house this infection, this death within my body. He transferred it to me, but I cannot hate him. He is my host, my gracious host who has given me a home and provided nourishment.

Day Six

I am the monster, I am a child of the night. This is my last entry. Tomorrow, I will rip apart these pages and leave behind these thoughts. The next to be infected must learn for themselves, to shape their own undeath. They will either walk in the sun for redemption into Heaven, or join us in survival.

I am the monster, I am a child of the night...