And he relished it.
So young, so innocent, so helpless.. Each life a prize he had taken, each as glorified as the last, each as bloody in death. He felt the blood on his hands again; remember the bittersweet sting of its taste on his tongue.. With a pang of desire he recalled the flavour of a cold, blood-coated dagger..
How he longed for it.
Again he recalled the gentle touch of long hair, the brush of a cheek, the delicacy of a neck, the helplessness.. Staring deep into the eyes of the victim, seeing her eyes brimming with tears, begging wordlessly for mercy before he snapped her neck in have like a twig or slit her throat open like an envelope.
Screams enveloped him, louder and louder, surrounded by darkness with no escape from it. He yearned for it, the sensation of licking blood of a quarry's neck, as it trembled with fear, unable to utter a sound.
There'd be another grave to dig tonight, he murmured to himself, amid the screams in his head. Another shallow grave.