mortisnine

The knife slipped out of his grasp and his fingers somehow found themselves coated in blood as he slid his hand into hers. He squeezed her dead grasp softly and stared at her, trying to make himself believe she wasn't really dead, only badly wounded. Looking toward Catrina, whose body looked as limp as a deceased corpse, the young man studied her face and outlined each detail. Yet, his face appeared to be soft and broken, though his love was not broken enough to satisfy his father. The color already seemed to have slithered away from her cheeks, leaving them with a pearly whiteness that cooed into his existance. Cool airs suddenly picked up and tossed themselves from one end of the world to the other, and in a sense the wind felt warm. His eyes fell on a ring that was around her finger. It was the same ring his mother had worn the day she died.
Alicard turned from her body and rose up to a standing position. He walked upon the grass that was deader than the dead, which was still as soft as the drapping threads on his velvet chair. He crept along and stared off at nothing, still refusing to believe he had lost control. Once it finally hit him like a pound of bricks, he slumped down to the ground. His breaths withered slowly and panic over took his fragile soul, choking it slowly. The tears tasted salty in his eyes and he looked back at her body.
"Catrina," he whispered, too quiet for even himself to hear.
Catrina reached down and grapped the edge of her shirt and pulled it off over her head. She shook out her hair and took a step back, letting him look at her. She tilted her head slightly and smirked.
"Tell me..." she began and started to walk around him, dragging her fingertips across the clothing that lay ontop of his waist, "what do you do with the other women after you've fucked their brains out?" Alicard raised his eyebrow and then stiffened as she stopped walking and slipped both of her arms around his waist. Cat's fingers pushed his shirt up and then stole their way under the edge of his pants. Slowly, she began to massage the skin and leaned her face into the back of his neck.
"You must do something to them if you enjoy killing so much," she whispered and slid her hands around to the front of him and unbuttoned his jeans quickly, "Tell me, Alicard. If I were to sleep with you would you kill me too?"
He could have cried at that moment. He could have gone inside and sat with a bottle of vodka that would have heard his entire story by the end of the night. But the only thing on his mind was her and what he had done. Alicard grabbed the knife and looked at the blood that trickled down from its edge sweetly, cooing softly into his being. He had been crowned a prince of a never ending hell. With his trembling hand he lifted the weapon into the air. The young stranger drew his dagger and embraced it against his flesh. He slew himself and willingly fell over the already decenigrating young woman.
And as the life was slowly draining from his body and flowing over Catrina's, he could hear her voice in the back of his mind. He heard her crying, and as his vision blurred he could see her croutched on the ground. Her appearance was faded and broken. It was her spirit. His lips fell open and he tried to talk. His last wish was to ask for forgiveness and say he was sorry. But as death took him and cradled his essence in its arms, the only words that came out of his mouth were, "I love you..."