Do You Guys Think Vampires Use Stakes For Kink Like People Use Knives

pirate voice: there's a beautiful person out there reading this post, I can feel it in me bones

mailman voice: I'm curious, what did you make me sound like?

It is the first bit of normalcy she has had since her boss vanished.

For three lovely days and nights, she was able to play the role of host, and Drakan the role of valued guest.

She gave him a room, she kept him well fed, and she was as polite as always. In return, he taught her the rules and laws of their clan. He told her how their particular variety of hospitality functioned.

After three days and three nights, he left.

He gave her a gift.

He gave her a knife.

It’s an old thing. It is so very sharp, and comes to a tidy point. The handle is worn and aged, yet the blade shines as though it has never been used.

She takes it in her hand, holds it.

Her cold skin matches the cold of the metal hilt.

She makes a few attempts at cutting and stabbing with it. Her movements are clumsy, lacking her usual grace. No amount of skill at needlework or using a broom has prepared her for this. Even if she were to find herself in a fight, she would much prefer to grow claws or twist and reshape the bodies of her opponents.

But she has been given a gift, and she intends to accept it in every way she can.

She needs to practice.

She goes to one of the spare rooms. She fixed this one herself. She made the bed. She fixed the walls. She crafted the decorations.

For now, none of this matters.

She takes all those raw materials, and shapes them into the thing she needs.

She builds muscles and a skeleton and vocal cords and eyes and teeth.

She takes a brain, but leaves it as empty as it was when she made it into that pretty thing over the fireplace, and puts it inside the body.

Soon, her preparation is done.

She lashes out with her new knife, embedding it in the dummy’s eye.

It jerks and twitches. It screams. It does not fall or move backwards.

She is satisfied.

She removes the blade, and fixes the dummy.

She lashes out again. She cuts its throat. The cerebrospinal fluid it is using as a surrogate for blood spills out.

She steps back, and fixes the dummy.

She moves around the dummy, and crouches swiftly, striking at its legs. She cuts the muscles that keep it standing, and it tumbles to the ground. It cries out again at this.

She steps back, and fixes the dummy.

She walks back around to its front. This time, she strikes lower. She draws her blade through the skin of its belly. Guts come tumbling out. Tears fill the eyes of the dummy.

She steps back, and fixes the dummy.

She plunges the blade into the flesh between its neck and shoulder.

She steps back, and fixes the dummy.

She strikes it under the arm, nearly tearing it off the joint with the force and precision of her blow.

She steps back, and fixes the dummy.

This goes on for a while.

By the end of her practice, she has become quite adept with a knife. Her movements are exact and calculated. She is graceful again.

She has grown rather fond of this knife.

She fixes her attention on the dummy. Tears stain its face. Viscera and cerebrospinal fluid tarnish the floor around it. It is covered in scars, borne from wounds that have been too rapidly healed.

Its eyes seem to plead with her. She ignores it, and returns all of the materials to their proper places.

She leaves the room with a soulless smile on her face. She wonders what it would be like to practice on something that could still act and think.

But first, she has made a mess, and it is her job as a maidservant to clean it up.

been building a collection of posts from like minded individuals

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