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Description
Warning: Hiero is a weirdo, who tries to delve into Moth's psyche a bit too much XD

Warning 2: Vague mention of torture, blood, and all around Moth oddness.

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He didn’t know why it was exciting…it almost made him sick to think about his actions, but wasn’t the sickness building up his excitement over it as well? That contraction of his stomach as his knives sank into flesh, blood welling from the wounds so bright…so real.

He could smell their fear as he moved closer to them, a rather subtle acrid smell that was almost intoxicating. Every one of them knew their lives were in his hands…maybe that was what excited him, the fact that for a few brief moment…he was god

Their screams lingered with him after it was over, more than the blood and the images ever would. The way they would cry and beg incoherently. He let their words soak into his very core…a sort of penitence perhaps?

It made him feel empty, and small after the high. His heart suddenly pounding, making his body ache with a sort of longing…the knife turning on him, digging into his own skin as he searched for his sanity.

It was painful, a hot burning sensation as his flesh was sliced open, the cuts long and shallow reminding him who he was, and bringing him back down from wherever the fuck his mind had gone.

Suddenly the images would return to him, forcing him to rush towards the sink, body doubling over as he heaved into it. Every detail flooding back, every sick deranged thing he had done. The sounds of breaking bones and shrill screams, the smell of burning flesh and the thought of what was left over, still sitting in that chair…watching him.

Willing himself to calm down Moth began to go through the task of cleaning up, his movements deliberate, almost automatic. It wasn’t the first time and it probably wouldn’t be the last he’d get a little…carried away.

Once the task was done he sat on the chair, the bright light above it obscuring the room from his vision, a cold veil washing over him as he tried to justify himself.

It had been a stumble, next time he’d remain in control…next time he’d deliver a live bounty.

Description
Warning: Hiero is a weirdo, who tries to delve into Moth's psyche a bit too much XD

Warning 2: Vague mention of torture, blood, and all around Moth oddness.

======

He didn’t know why it was exciting…it almost made him sick to think about his actions, but wasn’t the sickness building up his excitement over it as well? That contraction of his stomach as his knives sank into flesh, blood welling from the wounds so bright…so real.

He could smell their fear as he moved closer to them, a rather subtle acrid smell that was almost intoxicating. Every one of them knew their lives were in his hands…maybe that was what excited him, the fact that for a few brief moment…he was god

Their screams lingered with him after it was over, more than the blood and the images ever would. The way they would cry and beg incoherently. He let their words soak into his very core…a sort of penitence perhaps?

It made him feel empty, and small after the high. His heart suddenly pounding, making his body ache with a sort of longing…the knife turning on him, digging into his own skin as he searched for his sanity.

It was painful, a hot burning sensation as his flesh was sliced open, the cuts long and shallow reminding him who he was, and bringing him back down from wherever the fuck his mind had gone.

Suddenly the images would return to him, forcing him to rush towards the sink, body doubling over as he heaved into it. Every detail flooding back, every sick deranged thing he had done. The sounds of breaking bones and shrill screams, the smell of burning flesh and the thought of what was left over, still sitting in that chair…watching him.

Willing himself to calm down Moth began to go through the task of cleaning up, his movements deliberate, almost automatic. It wasn’t the first time and it probably wouldn’t be the last he’d get a little…carried away.

Once the task was done he sat on the chair, the bright light above it obscuring the room from his vision, a cold veil washing over him as he tried to justify himself.

It had been a stumble, next time he’d remain in control…next time he’d deliver a live bounty.