/Erm… Slash, again, of course… and rather disturbing slash, at that. Talk about murder, mutilation, stalking and supernatural stuffs. This is rated R for a reason, people. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

And now that I've probably just made all of that much more interested in seeing what the fuss is about, a little clearing up of things is in order. The "you" is a guy, the narrator is a guy, and the dead guy- well, he's a guy, too. Duh. Sorry about that. I got a little carried away./

Obsession Entwined Narcissism

This is the price he pays for loving you.

I stare at his body, beyond any emotion. I've seen it before, remember? You tend to fall into ruts, my dear.

The mutilation is artistic, as always. Sweeping shallow cuts and delicate red lines burnt into white skin… esthetically pleasing. Even I have to admire it. He was quite pretty, but now he's gorgeous.

Art is a dangerous thing, don't you think?

I wonder where you've run to now. It's been years, love. Where are you hiding now? Who's next to lust after, love, confess to, then finally despair of and break and kill? It's a vicious cycle, and it makes me laugh.

You never learn, do you?

I step delicately over the small splashes of blood, the instruments you left in a heap, the puddles of the wine you had shared with him before, or maybe during, this final act of ecstasy. You really loved this one, didn't you?

Your earlier victims- all beautiful, all lithe and exotic and so very, very lovely- you chained them up with silver and gold, working your magic with jeweled knives and diamond blades. You wasted the wealth I gave to you, but if you would only ask, I would fill your coffers tenfold, love.

But you run and run, and you never stop and look back. You never think to ask.

I touch the bindings on his wrists and ankles, knotted intricately over his torso and splaying his body up and along a white wall. Somehow you managed not to get any crimson on these dove-white silken sheets. I applaud your technique, my dear. His very expression is one of joy.

They all loved you so much. It's a shame that love isn't what you want of them.

Do you think I am blind, darling? You didn't run from me because I didn't love you- god, I love you and always have, with everything that I am. You ran because you would look in my eyes and you would see me.

Me.

And nothing you could do would ever make my eyes reflect only you.

I can smell you when I lean close to him. Your sweat, your spit, your semen- you always were a tactile creature. And there, on his throat, is a tiny mark. A love bite. I have to smile when I see it. I remember seeing such bites on my throat once upon a time.

I look around, trying to guess at the new depths of your depression. I see black sheets over walls, candles everywhere… Your mind is darker now then ever. You hate yourself, don't you, love? You kill them once you see yourself in their eyes because it's the only way you can destroy yourself.

You were never introspective, so I doubt such a realization has caught up with you just yet. You probably don't understand what drives you to choose a victim, woo him, love him blindly and fully until he can't think of anything but you. Until he lives and breathes only to love you.

Do you remember, in that once upon a time, in that fairy time when you and I were together and nothing could ever tear us apart? Centuries passed us, love, and we never knew the changing of the seasons. Time couldn't touch us, death didn't know us, life wasn't something that concerned us at all.

They say that immortals always go insane. Was that before or after they knew of you?

I could be considered crazy, I'm sure. You were silent for days; you wouldn't stay in the same room as me. I raged- you remember that. I screamed at you, I broke things, I couldn't be around you at all. Then you found me one night, and I thought everything was all right again. It was the most wonderful night I ever spent with you.

It was your goodbye.

The next day, you were gone, and I couldn't sense your spirit anywhere. I knew what that meant. It was like I had been waiting for this to happen; like I had been waiting for you to leave. But I couldn't just let you go.

How many years has it been, love? How many people have you gone through, loving and destroying? And it was always the beautiful, talented, incredibly shining souls that attracted you: the poets, the painters, the singers and dancers; you have always wanted to make the artists, who were full and strong in themselves, become reflections of you.

You always were vain.

I sigh and touch his face, seeing in that lost smile a piece of you. I have followed you for countless years and I will not give up now. With one deep kiss I leave your lover, noticing with pleasure that he isn't yet too cold.

I will catch you yet, love.

There's a satin scarf, midnight blue, lying in the last pale stretch of moonlight. It isn't left there by chance; no, not the scarf I gave to you once upon a fairy tale. I reach out, thinking perhaps that in my lonely hunting I have finally found myself imagining promises that haven't been made. But it's really here. It's here in my hand.

And there's something new- a star stitched in silver thread on the corner, small and understated, but blinding in my eyes. It's the only indication you've ever given me that you know I'm following, and my god, my god…

It's not only an indication but an approval. You don't want me to give up, do you, darling?

You aren't running away anymore, I see.

No, now you're just playing hard to get.

/Review if you like, flame if you have to, blink in confusion if you just don't get it./