[center] [img] http://i383.photobucket.com/albums/oo276/metalsonic2nd/78d46da8-cd62-496d-bb45-bc0a6f01e053_zpskrx5azdo.jpg [/img] [/center]

“And how are we today, little cherubin?” 

How long had she been here? Days? Weeks?[i]Months?[/i]It had all blended together into one messy tapestry of blood and pain. 

The Dollmaker finished mucking about with his equipment, and strode elegantly over to Lynne’s table, his shoes clacking loudly against the cold stone floor. 

“I do believe it is time for mademoiselle to gaze upon the metamorphosis of the flesh which she has been privy to.” There was something different in the Dollmaker’s voice today. His words were quick instead of calculated, full of child-like mirth. The facade of refined elegance remained, but it was joined by the bubbly excitement of a young boy who wanted his parents to watch him do a backflip. 

The Dollmaker held up a vintage mirror, biding Lynne to take a look at her transformed self. 

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to grab hold of the Dollmaker and snap his fucking throat.

Skin, not her skin, was pulled tightly across her scalp, wrought into her own face. Hooks and stitches ran through her likeness, binding the two sets of flesh together. Thick, jagged, cuts ran through the raw redness beneath, turning her features into a crooked mess of deep marks and gashes. 

[i] Breathe in. [/i] 

[i]Breathe out. [/i] 

She couldn’t let her horror show. If she wanted to escape, she had to love her new face. 

“Its beautiful.” She said, the corners of her twisted mouth forming a strained grin. 

“Oh, sweet cherubin!” The Dollmaker beamed, his face lighting up “How long I have waited to meet one which truly appreciates my muse! Such brilliance can only go unappreciated for so long!” 

“The texture is...exquisite.” She managed.

“Isn’t it just?! To blend flesh together, so seamlessly! To craft dolls of flesh and sinew!” 

“Might I...feel it?” Her voice was weak and hoarse, little more than a croaky whisper. 

“Why, of course, sweet cherubin!” The Dollmaker exclaimed joyously, his body swaying “to feel flesh against flesh! Is anything in life half so sweet?!” 

His gnarled hands slipped down to her wrists, steadily unfastening the leather buckles which held her arms in place. 

“Take care to really linger on the-” 

Lynne’s hand shot forwards, grabbing hold of the Dollmaker’s throat, and digging her nails into the scarred flesh of his neck. His eyes went wide, and he started to gag and thrash about, beating wildly at her side as he fought to free himself from her grasp. Her body was raked in cuts and bruises, and every time the Dollmaker struck her it sent a fresh spasm of pain shrieking through her flesh, yet somehow she conjured the strength to endure. 

He went limp, his eyes lolled back, and he fell to the floor, with jagged trails of blood seeping down from where her nails had bitten into him. 

Lynne lay there, as though she were dead, puffing and pating on her back for some time. Once she had the energy, the young woman steadily began unfastening the straps which bound her, and eased herself up off of the table. 

She gazed down at the Dollmaker’s unconscious form. [I]I should kill him. I should cave his skull in with my foot and let him bleed out.[/i] But she couldn’t. She couldn’t stay and exact her vengeance. She needed to get as far as way as she could from this place. She needed to leave before he woke up. 

[hr]  

Having owned a bondage shop in one of the most crime-ridden cities in all of the United States for the best part of three years, Douglas Zukauskas was used to seeing some weird shit. Quite literally, in regards to some of his more out-going regulars. However, the woman with a face like a rack of uncooked ribs who came stumbling through Douglas’ door was still a bit of a shock.

“Holy shit, are you okay?!” He called out from behind the counter. He didn’t want to come across as mocking her injuries, but she looked genuinely frantic and scared. 

“P-Please, help me…” She croaked. 

“You stay right there, love,” he said as softly as he could “I’ll ring an ambulance.” 

Douglas pulled out his mobile and began to dial 911, but the woman called out. 

“No! No...ambulance.” 

“Jesus, love, you look like yer on death’s door,” He rushed out from behind the counter, ready to support her “please let us get you to a doctah’.” 

Douglass leaned down, about to slide his arm through hers, when suddenly she grabbed hold of his pulse point and forced him to the ground. 

“What the fu-” 

Her boot-clad foot smashed into his jaw, and then he was lying on his back, as searing agony ripped through every cell in his body. 

“I’m sorry, you seem like a good guy,” he heard her say, as pain overcame him, and his eyelids began to drift shut “but I don’t know how far Simitiae’s influence extends, and I can’t risk going back there.” 

[hr]

Once the shopkeeper had blacked out, Lynne made her way behind the counter, and began rummaging through the various cabinets which were hidden there. She fished $500 in notes out of the register, which she stuffed into the her jacket's pockets, and found a Beretta AL391 stashed away in a compartment. 

Shotgun and cash in tow, Lynne took a look around the store’s various shelves. 

Gear, gags, and gizmos lined the walls, accompanied by raunchy magazines and bull whips. 

But it was one particular piece which caught Lynne’s attention. 

A suit of black latex and red leather, with what looked like a painted gimp mask all done up with make up, stood on a podium nearby. 

“I suppose we’ve all got to experiment…” Lynne muttered to herself, as she began to strip down and change. 

[center] [img]  http://writeups.org/img/fiche/2422.jpg [/img] [/center] 

[b] [center] [i] “I’m coming for you, asshole.” [/i] [/center] [/b]