Florence stuttered out between sobs. “Well whatever I do, you definitely aren’t coming back from it I can assure you that.” You say in a sort of reassuring way. You untie the rope from your bag and tie Florence’s arms together with it. “Alistair you may materialize now, if you’d like.” You say with a firm grip on Florence’s restraints. He materializes next to you from the top hat down. “You brought me such a cute little gift.” He says and you smile at him while Florence stares gaping at him, so you take a handkerchief out of your waist coat and tie it around their mouth while they have it open to keep them muffled. “I know no one would hear you this far out, but I don’t want any ringing in my ears when this is over. Now where should we start?” You ask, toying with the dagger in your hand.

“How about the legs.

Tougher to run while injured.” Alistair suggests. “Hmm. Very sensible.” You say, and almost in an instant you pull out your already loaded flintlock, cocking it, and shoot a hole through their left ankle. They scream in agony at the sudden searing pain and fall to the ground. They almost take you with them, but you let go of their restraints before they can. “Mmm,” Alistair hums beside you, “how I missed the screams.” Florence writhes on the ground in pain, face soaked from sobbing, and ankle at an unnatural angle now covered in fresh red blood. “They can still limp if they really want to escape.” You say displeased. “Let’s try the other one then, shall we.” Alistair suggests. You reload your flintlock with haste. “No, please, just kill me.” You kick their legs apart so you can get a good aim, “That would be a kindness.” You say and blow another hole, this time through their right knee and blood gushed out onto their clothes and the dirt. Florence cries again but then they grow quiet. “Sounds like they’re slipping away.” Alistair points out.( hey guys it's you fave author if your still reading this shit comment your fictional crush) “Oh no, you’re not leaving us just yet.” You say hoisting them up under their arms, making sure to only get blood on your cloak. You drag them to the side of the road, laying them against the base of a tree. They look at you through hazy and lidded eyes, like they’re about to faint from the pain and blood loss. “How should we finish this then? It’s not fun when they aren’t screaming and begging.” You say, mulling over all your options. “How about, the hatchet?” Alistair asks, and your ears perk up. “Well how was it for you?” You ask, intrigued. “It did take a few chops, my staff had terrible aim.

But I’m sure you have a much better swing than those goons.” He says. “Might as well try.” You say and take a good swing at their throat and blood sprays everywhere, while making perfect contact with their jugular. It cuts clean through, just as Alistair said, and their head rolls off the end of the hatchet to the ground, and settles between their bloody legs. The rest of their body slumps back against the tree as the hatchet stays fully embedded in the tree.

You breathe heavily as your heart races in your chest from the adrenaline, your eyes are wide, and your pupils dilated. You watch as a steady flowing cascade of blood gushes out from their neck and drenching the rest of their body below. Alistair stares at your face as you’re entranced by the sight of your crimes. “What?” You pant, feeling his eyes on you, but keeping yours on the corpse… the fresh one that is. But he doesn’t answer. He reaches out and turns your chin to him and his features portray a deep adoration. Slowly, he steps in close, cups your blood splattered cheek, pulls his arm around to the small of your back. “I love you more than murder, my dear.” Florence stuttered out between sobs. “Well whatever I do, you definitely aren’t coming back from it I can assure you that.” You say in a sort of reassuring way.