appetence
appetence 
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a_domare
a_domare Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   2 months ago
Synchronic taps of blade on wood filtered through the kitchen, contrasted by the admiring silence of her audience. Full red lips, akin to the alluring pigmentation of blood, parted slightly. "The knife is an embodiment of your preparation", she instructed, her clear dictation cutting through the stillness of the presentation hall.

appetence

Synchronic taps of blade on wood filtered through the kitchen, contrasted by the admiring silence of her audience. Full red lips, akin to the alluring pigmentation of blood, parted slightly.

"The knife is an embodiment of your preparation", she instructed, her clear dictation cutting through the stillness of the presentation hall.

"Your creation must be nothing short of perfection, I am not one to be lenient".

Her sylph-like fingers were the source of envy; they eyed her movements with awe as she sliced with envious precision, blade held delicate yet firm.

The tap, tap tapping of metal on wood was melodical, the rhythm, her rhythm, refusing to go out of line.

Dare they breathe out of time with her strikes? Dare they interrupt her execution? Her aspiring onlookers were hit with an unnerving epiphany.

For they were the blade, dancing to the tune of the wielder, and the knife pleaded for mercy.

Now as day descends into the enchanting lure of night, she lights her candles, the flames reflecting the dim embers of hope in achieving some sort of serenity.

The cravings now visited frequently, they come knocking in the doors of sanity. Through the crack of the open entrance, her thoughts escalated, arising a familiar appetite.

It was laughable, to her, at the covetousness that arose within during those times. Now the doors swung wide, welcoming the waves of hysteria with the well-known flutter of white flags.

Prevail over her mind it shall, forcing her body into submission at the sight of its invitation.

Turning on her television, she flicked through the mindless array of channels, settling down the remote at points of intrigue.

Her brow cocked in surprise at the news the anchor man brought with him.

"Over one month alone, three unusual disappearances have taken place concerning authorities all over the state. Police have found identical silver blades within the belongings of the victims.

They have concluded that the same organization or person is responsible for the vanishing of the following students".

A harsh laugh cascaded throughout the house's inner walls, her body shaking with amusement. "They caught on.

And faster this time!", She hummed a senseless tune, struggling to pull her facial expressions back in check. Allowing herself to be lulled to sleep, she filled her head with white noise.

"What fun", she mumbled. Rarely did the iron walls of her character crack, but this evening seemed to have released some long-restrained doubts, what remained of her castle.

For her blade had faltered mid cut, rhythm in shambles. If it were not for the arm resting atop her eyes, one would have witnessed the first breach of her iron fortress.

Shaken out of the safe haven she had briefly retreated to by daybreak; the chef's lean figure mechanically followed the comfortable routine of repairing a captured castle.

Her actions instinctual, as her fort was no stranger to the siege of doubt. The cracks were repaired with temptation, the hesitation with desire.

As if her mind split into two, she battles against her rationality, slicing away, forcing the weathered beat of her knife to march once more.

"This rationality is an embodiment of failure," she spoke, "and failure is never an option".

She was a hedonistic individual, a veteran not acquainted with disappointment. "The knife is an embodiment of my preparation. My creations are nothing short of perfection.

" With a final strike, the cracks were repaired, she would live to control another day.

A deep breath in, a deep breath out. She continued this cycle of reassurance, embracing the sense of calm, as she settles into her facade of composure. A soft smile laid upon her lips.

She still questioned, though, what that smile celebrated, Victory or Surrender?

Today, like always, the presence of her uniformity was once gain met with awe. Usually, she shouldered through these examinations with barely concealed boredom, but today promised reward.

A swift scan of the room confirmed that indeed, her time was worthwhile. There, standing in glory, was a brilliant candidate.

Slowly but surely, her preparations fell in place, finally giving her the chance to prove that indeed, the knife was the epitome of your masterpiece.

What remined of her doubts slipped through her fingers, instead replaced by cold, reliable steel.

A tremble of excitement rushed through her body; she allowed the insanity to rage freely, struggling to keep the conflict that waged inside her in check.

Reaching the last line of defense, her sword pierced through, forcing the last remnants of regret into submission.

Thrill collided with euphoria. Crimson delight stained the lifeless tone of her skin, sending her consciousness downward, falling with waterfalls of bliss.

Craze danced within her body, pulling her into a waltz of fulfilment with every cry.

It left her pacing in circles, spinning with the rhythm of the universe, twirling endlessly into the calling abyss.

Finally, everything was flawless.

The chef's creation bled perfection. It bled across her lips, tainting them with its signature crimson stain. Then, simply like one's life, it came to an eventual end.

All, except her void of longing, descended out of reach. Awaited tears fell. Fragments of light beamed in her lair, for the sun retold her the promise of her future.

And once again, synchronic taps of blade on wood filtered through the kitchen, contrasted by the admiring silence of her audience.

Full red lips, akin to the alluring pigmentation of blood, parted slightly.

"The knife is an embodiment of your preparation", she instructed, her clear dictation cutting through the stillness of the presentation hall.

"Your creation must be nothing short of perfection, I am not one to be lenient".

the end..... or is it?

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