#krysta drakos

[krystadrakos-gta]

The Epiphany

The sun rolled down over the mountains and the cacophony of lights began to illuminate the city in its renowned awe. Each casino themed in its own variation began to buzz down the strip. Las Venturas. Sin City. Where dreamers go to either die, or to galvanize beyond their dreaming selves. Krysta sat on a large couch, eyes glazing over. Fine, powder of white glazed the glass table in front of her, having been cut and spread for a few uses. Her body was unable to move. Only her eyes drank in the high rise penthouse view of the strip from The Visage.

Who even am I? Her mind raced back through the day. A day like most others since she'd fell into this scene. Her body ached from the day's shoot. Her insides were stretched, torn and pulled from the male actor's endowment. One position had particularly caused her pain. In fact, it still hurt. The only recourse for such days were the drugs, or the booze. Or even just a warm bath.

But tonight offered the rare luxury of not having to pay for it. Her agent sported the bill for her and a few of the others in the industry, and so she willingly came along. After the traditional party girl formalities, everyone engaged in their vice of choice.

Fuck, everyone is laid out... A cursory scan of the dark room, only illuminated at this point by the pouring in of the vibrant lights of the strip, offered the scene of bodies laid out from the binge. And that is when she felt the hand touch her bare shoulder from behind the couch. Gentle at first. Am I dreaming? She quickly realized she was not when the hand gripped her neck and another turned her head back and to the side, only to be met with his manhood. Who? Deep green eyes looked up to see him. James! Her agent pressed it against her surprised face, drunk himself with his aim.

Lunging up with her legs, unbalanced, his superior strength still had control of her neck. He lifted with her, launching her off the ground and threw her into the glass coffee table, shattering it and bombarding the room in a cloud of leftover blow. Blinking out the blur of the assault, her bare legs quickly kicked and flung to get her off her back as the lumbering, intoxicated James made his way around the couch.

I'm done being their victim. I'm done making everyone else money. I'm done being their fuck toy! The epiphany hit her like a wall. Consequences be damned. It was time to take the dick by the balls and make it her bitch. Rolling over the floor to the wall where a collection of sports memorabilia was displayed, it was as if destiny itself placed the wooden baseball bat in her grip.

Something else took over. Rage, desire, hints of other odds and ends. She found herself on her bare feet, blood running down her legs from small cuts of the table's shattered glass. But she felt none of it. Just the euphoric rush of taking power as she stalked towards the stumbling James.

The next thing she knew, he was on the ground in front of her. His eyes wide open, but no life in them. The blow to the head saw to that. Feeding on her newfound power, she cried and screamed as she began to beat his body into a broken pulp, breaking skin and bone until the floor and immediate area was painted in his blood. What was left was a mess and her covered in blood, panting and heaving over him. This sort of power intoxicated her more than any drug ever could, and as her head cleared, she rose empowered like never before.

It will all be mine, or I will burn it to the ground... It was a vow. She'd take everyone down that used her and take everything from them. She had work to do. Get clean. Plot her revenge.

But first, a bath.