Page 19 of Beautiful Nightmare

Then, a quick flash startles me further, and he appears, standing behind my reflection, smiling.

“Boo!”

I jump, startled.

Thenheis gone.

Looking down, my arms are no longer bloodied; the cuts are closed. My body is as it was.

But the obvious remains.

Something terrible is coming.

11

PRINCE

Adelicate flower.

My choice of poison.

My foster sister.

Royce.

And now she gets to see me for all that I am.

For all that I am capable of.

The sound of hurried feet echo above me, followed by the swift closing of the door. Rolling my eyes, her efforts to evade me are useless.

I will always find her.

Creep into her thoughts, dreams, and subconscious effortlessly.

To make her remember everything her brain has attempted to block and protect her from. For Royce,my sweet Royce, to be reminded that I fucking own her.

Since the starting days of our time together, my body needed to possess hers.

Her sadness brought me joy. And when I tormented her, it got me hard.

Still does.

So even as a child, I would destroy all the things she loved, including the tree swing where she first sat and watched me walk up the path and into this forsaken place.

Royce cried for days after I cut the branch down. Agatha locked her inside of her room for days, but only because the crying annoyed her and Royce wouldn’t stop.

She was given no food or water the entire time. And aiding her never crossed my mind.

My punishment was being kept from her and being unable to see her absolutely destroyed in person, only to hear it through her door and the thin walls.

Grumbles of distress bring me back to the present. Glancing at the corner of the living room, black leather shoes dangle, their feet off the ground. My own are resting nicely on top of a coffee table as I lean back in a plush reading chair.

Raking my fingers through my disheveled white hair, my mind searches the house for Royce, who seems to be prolonging our night of broken bodies. Still in her room, sitting before her vanity with her head resting in her hands. Shoulders shaking. She’s crying.

We don’t have time for this.

I haul the stool back, causing her bare legs to fly out, her head rising and her fingers gripping the seat.