Alice slapped John’s face.
She even heard the aftermath of her slender hand hitting his cheek echo in the vast area of the bedroom.
He erratically jerked awake, eyelids mashing aggressively at the newfound pain pulsing on his face. Confusion muddled his unattractive features as he stared up at the woman above him.
"Does this make you feel lustful, John? Does it make you want to sin?" Her finger trailed down his open blue undershirt daintily, until it did not, the tip of her nail drew blood as it dug down his sternum. With her legs straddling his stomach it was easy to hear his outcry from beneath her. Her voice was anything but lustful in this moment, harsh and gravelly, purposefully breaking his fantasy.
This is when he noticed his inability to move. She gazed and he gazed back. Eyes suddenly glassy. Eyes of a violent coward. His wrists and legs pulled at the beige rope, but it simply wouldn't give.
Blood from earlier tonight marred her face, the face of the devil staring down from above. It twisted her obsidian eyelashes like soot enveloped spider's webs.
“Did you do similar things to the women you hired, John? Did you beat them before or after you paid them?” Flickers of the lustful and sinful bruising on their tearstained frames flashed in her mind. If he couldn’t confess his sins to her, perhaps he’d confess them to his tormentors in the fiery depths of Hell.
Obtaining her God-given weapon Alice brandished the silvery blade in the shifting flame of candles on the bedside table. His eyes widened and he struggled beneath the ropes as they burned red rings into his blood dotted skin.
“Goat’s are to be sacrificed John, just like you. Do you accept this sacrifice?” The knife plunged and plunged and plunged. Each time drawing more blood onto her once white dress. It flooded around her, passing to her knees.
She liked the feeling of their hot blood on her cold skin. Like coming into a heated home on a snow bedecked night. It reminded her that they were human.
Each nerve firing as it slipped down her alabaster skin, staining it. Like raindrops on a stormy night, it coated her hands. Each flicker of blood curling beneath her fingernails and licking them with a deep red hue.
She took in a ragged breath as she smiled. Falling beside John's minced body. Her hair blanketed itself in his black gore. His hot blood frosted and chilled her skin and dress.
Tears drowned in her eyes. Not tears of sadness nor of fear, but of happiness. Of relief. It rushed through her veins, like cold water. Alice had completed her mission, her goal. She was a prophet for the death of immorality, each motion guided by the Heavenly hand of her creator.
Rushing upwards, Alice swung her feet over the edge of the white mattress. Blood dripped onto the carpet as the mattress dipped and rose beneath her weight. Leaving the large bedroom Alice made her way back towards the manors foyer.
Dripping claret with every echoing step. The knife still firmly gripped in her hand. Crimson red wept from the edge of the metal blade, expanding and popping as it hit the floor beside her.
She tore off her blood soaked apron, letting the white fabric flutter to the tile ground a few feet from her. The house was quiet, not a sound could be heard except for Alice’s practiced movements. Her digits stroked her dark hair back, letting angry blood soak it and darken the shoulder of her once- white dress.
Alice came to her knees, clasping her fingers in a prayer position. Her head bowed and waited for his call.
God was silent. And unknowable. And thunderous and deafening. He was everywhere and not.
Eternally in the grace of God she prayed for him, Alice smiled as more prayers ran from her ruby lips. She had purged sin from humanity. Not only had the grace of God shepherded her hand, he had shone his light on those who did not believe in his goodness, his wrath.
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