Darkness hid her emotions as she walked through the silent graveyard. Her normal Gothic facade down, the real her escaping. Only under the cover of nightfall could her true colours show. A deep, crimson red dress flowed around her, her black hair blowing lightly in the wind. Dark, dangling black and silver earrings glistened in the pale moonlight, refracting a pale silver light. The Gothic crosses that hung at the bottom were blood stained and in need of cleaning.
Small lines of blood trailed down her wrists, pain from razorblade kisses.
The moon shone brightly down on the stone graves and pure white snow. A light breeze stirred some of the snow up into small drifts that blew around her, causing her to shiver with the cold.
Silver tears slid silently from crystalline red eyes, down her cheeks, leaving black lines in their trails. Unheard sobs escaped her black lips.
Eery wails accompanied her sobs. They're here. her mind whispered. The spirits of the Netherworld. She rubbed the black crosses and demon signs from her face. They must go away. Please come off. She silently pleaded.
She hadn't meant to call on them. Chills shot up her spine. She wasn't like them...She wasn't!
"Don't come for me, please," She begged the unseen shadows. The wails got only louder. All of her pain turned to fear. Coldblooded fear. She wasn't part of the Underworld!
The winds picked up and she sensed an eery presence.
"I'm not one of you please! Don't take me! I'm not...I never...please!" She exclaimed, fear piercing her soul strong, as if it was the first time. A knife piercing darkness. She shuddered. She had never participated in the rituals. Never given the sacrifice. She's only taken the marks, gone to HIM in prayer. She never meant for this...not like this...
A cold, dead hand clasped her shoulder. It's touch was like a deep chill. It reeked of vile, rotting animals, decay, and must. She feared to turn and look into it's face. She knew a deep evil was behind her. She could feel it'sdark power all around her, her skin soaking it up like clean air.
"Please, leave me be. I never meant to-..." Her voice was cut off by an eerie, dark voice. It was like nothing she'd ever heard before. It dripped like a pure black ink. Had a slight serpentine hiss to it. It's breath smelled of foul blood. Rotting flesh.
"If it was meant to happen, it does. You called us, puppet, and we are here. You wanted us. We came. Now, you pay up," it demanded.
"With what?" she asked, thoroughly frightened.
"Hush, child, the darkness is your friend," the voice whispered, the words dripping.
"Right, my friend," the girl reminded herself. "What am I paying you with?"
"Your soul," It cackled evilly. It's laughs filled the cemetery, ricocheting off the tombstones and the iron gates.
Just in case your wondering, razorblade kisses are cuts made by a razorblade. Just a nicer name.