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Description
"You can use it only once," the Hatter warned him, the golden tincture he offered humming with the potential for deceit. "And it must be within purposeful proximity of your intended victim." His voice was steady for a man who's frame looked as though it had endured the bitterness of three life times. But a man such as he had the mind to endure four more.

"I see," the Crow sang, his words coming from a throat better suited for a sneaking reptile or scavenging Corvus, has his namesake implied. "But how could I hide a sigil with such...bedevilingly vibrant markings? Would not its...its glistening--" he hissed the word with distaste, "--catch the trollop's eye?"

"Hmph," the Hatter answered, amused. "Not if you cover it with blood..."

"Ahhhh...." The Crows wicked delight in the suggestion was blood-curdling. "Yes, yes. That would subdue its spirit, wouldn't it now..."

"Better if it's the blood of a child."

"A human child?"

"A child of any walk-of-life, but the warmer the better, Crow. My magic prefers the offering of creatures akin to its creator."

"You mean devils," the Crow teased, his levity more vile than any talk of murder or deceit.

And the Hatter chuckled at the insinuation. "If only it were the case," he conceded. "But no; mammals, as repulsive as it is to admit. Creatures of warm blood and living births. Fresh blood smeared over the sigil will silence it. And if you are clever in your placing of it, it will remain subdued until 'the trollop', as you call her, has lost her will to live."

"Ghehehehehh... The more desperate and disillusioned the better," he cackled.

"You truly are a depraved son of a shyster, Sir Crow. It has been both a burden and a dishonor to partake in such business with you." His insults were accompanied by a morbid and twisted smile. Somehow, they hardly sounded like insults at all.

"Oh, believe me Hatter, the disgust is all mine." The Crow's chuckle was like the sound of laughter dying, and his eyes burned with his wicked intent.

He had been casing his victim for months; he could hardly wait another night to feast on the air of her demise. Beasts like him cared not for pleasures of flesh or purse. His riches were that of a woman's tears, and his lust only for her desperation. His last victim had only lasted several days before she died... Too quick and too messy; too obvious and acutely suspicious. But with the Hatter's magic, he could watch this jewel of prime womanhood descend into despair for weeks on end. She would wither from her lively youthful self to that of a sick old woman. It would be written off as some blood-fever or flu of the mind. And when the time came that she was finally near her end, he would personally deliver it to her...and no one would be the wiser. -cm

More of these types of stories will accompany the art I cook up from Midjourney and be reserved for subscribers only, so hop on board for $1 a month if you're interested. And look out for other posts with premium downloads that have PDF stories attached.

Description
"You can use it only once," the Hatter warned him, the golden tincture he offered humming with the potential for deceit. "And it must be within purposeful proximity of your intended victim." His voice was steady for a man who's frame looked as though it had endured the bitterness of three life times. But a man such as he had the mind to endure four more.

"I see," the Crow sang, his words coming from a throat better suited for a sneaking reptile or scavenging Corvus, has his namesake implied. "But how could I hide a sigil with such...bedevilingly vibrant markings? Would not its...its glistening--" he hissed the word with distaste, "--catch the trollop's eye?"

"Hmph," the Hatter answered, amused. "Not if you cover it with blood..."

"Ahhhh...." The Crows wicked delight in the suggestion was blood-curdling. "Yes, yes. That would subdue its spirit, wouldn't it now..."

"Better if it's the blood of a child."

"A human child?"

"A child of any walk-of-life, but the warmer the better, Crow. My magic prefers the offering of creatures akin to its creator."

"You mean devils," the Crow teased, his levity more vile than any talk of murder or deceit.

And the Hatter chuckled at the insinuation. "If only it were the case," he conceded. "But no; mammals, as repulsive as it is to admit. Creatures of warm blood and living births. Fresh blood smeared over the sigil will silence it. And if you are clever in your placing of it, it will remain subdued until 'the trollop', as you call her, has lost her will to live."

"Ghehehehehh... The more desperate and disillusioned the better," he cackled.

"You truly are a depraved son of a shyster, Sir Crow. It has been both a burden and a dishonor to partake in such business with you." His insults were accompanied by a morbid and twisted smile. Somehow, they hardly sounded like insults at all.

"Oh, believe me Hatter, the disgust is all mine." The Crow's chuckle was like the sound of laughter dying, and his eyes burned with his wicked intent.

He had been casing his victim for months; he could hardly wait another night to feast on the air of her demise. Beasts like him cared not for pleasures of flesh or purse. His riches were that of a woman's tears, and his lust only for her desperation. His last victim had only lasted several days before she died... Too quick and too messy; too obvious and acutely suspicious. But with the Hatter's magic, he could watch this jewel of prime womanhood descend into despair for weeks on end. She would wither from her lively youthful self to that of a sick old woman. It would be written off as some blood-fever or flu of the mind. And when the time came that she was finally near her end, he would personally deliver it to her...and no one would be the wiser. -cm

More of these types of stories will accompany the art I cook up from Midjourney and be reserved for subscribers only, so hop on board for $1 a month if you're interested. And look out for other posts with premium downloads that have PDF stories attached.