His finger traces the
veins in your wrist, a
cold reminder of his presence.
It wouldn’t take much to
tear through your thin skin, to
coax the blood out from within you.
Option one is an upturn of lips,
cruelty oozing from his
slippery smile as he
digs in, almost deep enough.
He teases your veins,
madness in his eyes as he realizes
the gravity of this newfound power.
If you move, it’ll all be over,
but which fate is worse?
Option two is a twitch,
wariness clouding his features
when he sees your distrust.
Perhaps it’s his fault, or
perhaps you’ve been here before,
trusting so wholly before being
torn apart. He slides his
thumb over your wrist once more
before pulling away and giving you
a smile, a silent apology for
Of course, the only way to
truly know is to
offer your wrist, eyes
shut in anticipation, and
pray that you're right