the room was exquisite. every tool imaginable was at his disposal and had been used quite a few times already. ❛ you’ve been a naughty little minx haven’t you. it’s no wonder mister march wants you punished. ❜ calloused, meaty fingers lit delicately upon each tool caked in old blood.
❛ would you like to talk about what happened? ❜ finally the monster inquired, though hardly -truly- interested he went about sifting through each toy, wanted to choose the first one he used on her correctly. ❛ lay down on the table now, like a good girl. ❜
Naughty was one way to put it — although she knew their Master would have preferred calling her something far more hurtful and demeaning. Sally could see herself in him, pacing around the Cortez’ basement like a caged animal — eyes glowing with unspoken satisfaction as they feasted on butcher knives and hand saws. The addict’s mouth - that was made for spitting insults - remained shut tight and twisted into a little side grin she could only hope would drive him up the wall: nothing stung more than a marionette that simply wouldn’t break.
And up the nearest table she went — like the good girl he wanted her to be, ragged dress dancing around her thighs as she jumped off her feet and landed ( ass first ) on the blood-stained surface. “You haven’t heard? Little junkie ghost is one filthy backstabber. Little ghost deserves to be skinned alive.” Instead of choking on her own sarcasm and saving it inside her pocket, Sally chose to be that one thorn on everyone’s side and gave her tongue permission to run wild. “That’s what he said. Alive. You might be one hell of a sadist but good luck pulling that one off.”