by M. Morrison

Created on: April 02, 2010

A smile crept onto Varin's lips. She had waited too long for this day - the day she would bid farewell to the man who ruined her life. For twelve years she had been plagued by memories and night terrors. For twelve years she lived in fear. For twelve years she had been planning, imagining what it would be like to see the same terror in his eyes that he saw in hers. Now, finally, after twelve years, all of that could end. Her dream could come true, and she could put an end to her torment.

"Remember me?" she hissed. Her blade dragged gently across his face and throat. He made not a sound. "I'm the girl whose life you destroyed. You killed my family. My friends. Everyone I ever knew. Then you burned my town, and left me to die. Cold. Hungry. Alone. Remember me now?" she pressed the blade into his skin, but remained just shy of drawing blood. "Do you?" Again, he remained silent.

"Every night, for weeks, I saw your face in my window. Every night, you would whisper, 'don't scream' and hold up that God-forsaken knife. Not once did you come near me, but always you would threaten to kill my family if I made I sound. It was all a game to you, to watch a fourteen-year-old girl lie frozen in fear in her own bed. But now... now we play my game." She circled around him, a predator waiting to pounce. She gazed into him with cold, steely eyes, searching for any hint of fear. There was none. He stared calmly back at her, as if oblivious to his own vulnerability.

Power pulsed through her as she towered over him. It was his turn to feel small and defenseless. Down on his knees, with his hands bound behind him and ankles shackled, he was at her mercy, just as she was once at his. This time, however, things would end differently.

Twelve years ago, she would never have been able to stand this closely to him. Twelve years ago, she would not have had the courage to look him in the eye. Twelve years ago, she was a fourteen-year-old girl who'd lost everything. Now, she was a twenty-six-year-old woman with a thirst for blood. Now, she was the murderer, and he was the helpless fourteen-year-old.

She continued her slow circling of him, looking him up and down, stopping from time to time to wonder aloud what she might do to him. Still, every time she gazed into his eyes, she saw nothing. No fear. No weakness. No vulnerability. Her desire for vengeance was pulling at her. 'Kill, kill, kill.'

She swung. Blood spattered the floor, and he stood over her. In the blurry haze of her last moments, she saw a smug contentment in his eyes.

"You were never any good at tying knots."

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