Chapter Text
And when it awoke once more, fifty years had passed.
Derry was still the same — that quiet, peaceful town, forever under its insidious influence. The few buildings and houses remained, standing as they always had, untouched by the relentless march of time. The streets seemed frozen, as if the town itself had been spared from aging. Even the sewers, where its darkest secrets lay hidden, remained undisturbed. Yet, despite the stillness, its trophies had long since disappeared, rotted into nothingness, leaving behind only faint echoes of their existence. The town may have stood still, but the air was thick with something ancient, something waiting.
It sniffed the air outside the entrance to the sewer. The faint tang of decaying leaves mixed with the crisp bite of approaching frost. Winter was coming—an icy predator in its own right, creeping closer with each passing moment.
Pennywise didn’t mind the cold; his true form could withstand far worse than a little frost. But winter meant scarcity. Fewer wandering little snacks. Fewer giggling, carefree children to coax into the dark. Scarcity of food, scarcity of movement, scarcity of fear—his lifeblood.
He sniffed again, his sharp senses picking up the faint aroma of human sweat mingled with something sweet—candy, perhaps? Or the sticky scent of childhood innocence. He grinned, his lips curling over jagged teeth that glinted like knives in the dim light of the sewer entrance. Those tender, succulent little morsels.
The clown’s head tilted unnaturally, his yellow eyes narrowing. Winter would drive them into their homes. It always did. Those cautious parents, so intent on locking their doors and sealing their windows, would gather their children close. They thought they were safe, hiding behind walls and blankets, but Pennywise knew better. No barrier was strong enough to keep him out if he really wanted in.
Still, hunting would be harder. Children would stay inside, far from the dark alleys and storm drains where he lurked. No games of hide and seek, no schoolyards buzzing with chatter, no sweet laughter echoing in the streets. No curiosity leading a child too close to his lair. Winter turned his hunting grounds into barren wastelands, and he hated it.
He crouched low, his bright red pompom shoes scraping faintly against the damp stone. The sewer echoed with the faint sound of his breathing, uneven and deliberate, as though he were savoring the taste of the hunt to come.
There was no time to waste. The air already carried the promise of frost, and the meat snacks—the children—would soon be scurrying back to their warm dens, oblivious to the predator stalking them from the shadows.
“Time to play,” he whispered, his voice soft and sing-song, yet filled with malice. His grin widened, too far for a human face, as his yellow eyes glowed faintly in the gloom. Pennywise moved forward, his movements both predatory and disturbingly playful, like a marionette controlled by some malevolent hand.
Winter could wait. The hunt could not.
It hurried out of the sewers, driven by the primal need to feed. The town lay beyond the forest—a rich hunting ground filled with warm, unsuspecting prey. But as it moved through the forest’s shadowy expanse, its progress was abruptly halted.
SNAP.
A massive bear trap, hidden beneath a carpet of wilted leaves, clamped down on its legs. The sharp, metallic teeth bit deep, and Pennywise let out a guttural snarl that echoed through the trees. The forest came alive with the sound, a chorus of horrible snarls and inhuman howls that sent shivers down the spines of those living near its edge.
The residents of Derry, already wary of the woods, quickly retreated into their homes. Doors were slammed shut, bolts slid into place, and curtains were drawn tight. Whatever was out there, they wanted no part of it.
Pennywise struggled against the trap, his jagged teeth bared in fury. He pulled at his legs, trying to wrench himself free, but the steel held firm. Blood oozed from the deep gashes, soaking into the fabric of his once-dapper gray suit and pooling on the forest floor. The acrid scent of iron mingled with the forest's musky aroma, creating a grotesque perfume that hung heavy in the cold air.
For hours, then days, it fought. It snarled, it tugged, it bit at the unyielding metal, but to no avail. Its strength had not fully returned—not yet. The long slumber had left it weakened, a shadow of its usual self. It was a humiliating state for an entity like Pennywise, a predator reduced to prey.
By the end of the first week, the forest had grown quieter. Its snarls no longer echoed as often, and the once-lively predator seemed to waver. Blood continued to seep from its wounds, staining the ground beneath it a deep crimson.
On the second week, as Pennywise lay in the trap, exhausted and drained, a single snowflake drifted from the gray sky. It landed in the eldritch creature’s upturned palm, melting instantly on contact with its unnatural skin. More snowflakes followed, swirling through the forest in a silent, delicate dance.
Winter had arrived in full force, blanketing the land in pristine white. The once-dark forest was now a ghostly landscape, its treetops and ground alike covered in a shroud of snow. Everything was quiet, serene, and untouched—everything except one spot.
Around the trap, the snow was stained red. The pure white landscape was marred by a deep, vivid crimson, a stark contrast to the peaceful beauty of the winter scene. Pennywise’s blood continued to seep, an unrelenting reminder of its predicament.
Its yellow eyes glared at the snow-covered world around it. The once-proud predator, reduced to a caged beast, felt a surge of fury. It was not over. Not yet. It would endure, as it always had. The town of Derry would not escape its grasp—not even winter could stop that.
But for now, the clown waited. Snarling, watching, and plotting beneath the snow-dusted trees, it bided its time, its blood painting the winter white red.
It watches as the first snow lands on its palm.
Eleven days had passed. The trap still held firm, and Pennywise was now a shadow of his usual self. Hunger gnawed at his insides like a feral animal, and his strength, was now but a flicker. His mangled legs—twisted, torn, and raw—bled sluggishly onto the snow, the crimson stains spreading like an ominous bloom across the stark white ground.
the madness of starvation whispered dark ideas into his mind. His gaze flicked to his own flesh, pale and stretched over unnatural bones. The thought took root: if the trap could not be broken, perhaps he could break himself free. Teeth as sharp as his could sever even his own limbs.
He leaned forward, lips curling back to bare his jagged teeth, saliva dripping from his mouth in thin, hungry strands. But just as he was about to sink his teeth into his own flesh, a sound pierced the stillness.
Crunch.
The crisp, deliberate sound of footsteps on untouched snow.
Pennywise froze. His head tilted unnaturally to one side, his glowing yellow eyes narrowing with renewed hunger and intrigue. A snack. A delicious, tender little snack.
Drool pooled at the corners of his mouth, sliding down his chin as he suppressed a delighted snarl. He knew his current state. He couldn’t hunt, couldn’t chase. He was weak, pinned, and pitiful. Yet he could still deceive.
A wicked idea formed, and with a grotesque cracking of bones and muscles, Pennywise began to shift. His monstrous form melted away, and in its place emerged a frail human figure—a young man with sunken cheeks, a pale complexion, and bloodied clothing. He let himself collapse into the snow, his body sprawled and trembling, eyes half-lidded as if on the verge of death.
...snap.
The footsteps were closer now. The snack was here.
Inside his mind, he grinned, though his human face remained pitiful and weak. The thrill of the hunt, the anticipation of fear, coursed through him like a lifeline. His body might have been broken, but his will was unyielding.
Ahh… huehuehue… the snack is HERE~
The thought echoed in his mind as the footsteps approached, slow and hesitant. He remained perfectly still, feigning vulnerability. His glowing eyes dimmed, replaced by the watery, pleading gaze of a dying man.
This was his game now. A predator disguised as prey, lying in wait for the fool who dared to step too close to the maw of the eldritch.
Pennywise groaned, playing the part of the helpless victim as he tilted his head toward the human who had stumbled across him. His yellow eyes, dimmed to a more human shade , flickered to focus on her—a female.
He groaned and deceivingly move it's head towards the human... A female one.
"Oh my god! Of all things to find! A dead body??" Her voice was loud, exasperated, as though she’d discovered a mess someone else left behind.
He stilled, keeping up the charade, waiting for the moment fear would creep in. Any moment now.
She frowned, tilting her head, then crouched down, poking his side with an unceremonious finger. "Oh… So… you’re still alive," she muttered, her tone dripping with dry sarcasm.
Her eyes drifted downward, finally taking in the gruesome sight of the massive bear trap clamped around the man’s legs. The serrated steel teeth had dug deep into his calves, mangling the flesh and leaving jagged wounds that oozed blood. The crimson streaks on the snow had begun to freeze in the biting cold, painting the scene even more grotesque.
Her breath hitched. Panic crept into her chest as she crouched beside him, hovering uncertainly. "H-Hey, are you conscious? Can you hear me? Come on!" Her voice quivered as she lightly tapped his cheek, trying to rouse him.
After a few desperate taps, the man groaned softly, his eyelids fluttering open.
And for a moment, the world seemed to pause.
His eyes—beautiful, striking baby blue with streaks of light green—met hers. She blinked, momentarily entranced by the unexpected beauty of them. They seemed too vivid, too alive for someone in his condition.
His eyes are beautiful... she thought absently, her panic temporarily dulled by the odd observation
.
But reality came crashing back like a slap to the face. Shaking her head, she refocused, swallowing hard as she tried to calm herself. "What happened to you? Can you feel your legs?" she asked, her voice still trembling.
The man complained , his expression calm as he rasped, "I can’t feel anything below my knees."
His hoarse tone sent another wave of unease through her. She bit her lip. She had already suspected as much—the sight of his legs twisted in the bear trap had left little room for hope—but hearing it from him made it feel worse.
She glanced at his legs again, grimacing as her mind raced. The blood loss alone was concerning, but if the cold didn’t kill him, infection certainly could. And there was no way she could move him in this state.
Okay, think, think! What do I have?
She fumbled for her backpack, yanking it open and rifling through its contents. It wasn’t much, just the essentials for her winter outing: canned goods, coffee granules, sugar packets, matches, a small camping lamp, a liter of gasoline, compressed blankets, heat packs, a basic first aid kit, a cutter, and heat insulation foils.
She paused for a second, staring at the eclectic assortment. Most people might wonder why anyone would carry such things in the first place, but that wasn’t important right now. Explanations could come later—if they both survived this.
For now, she had a bleeding man and a ticking clock.
Snatching the first aid kit and heat insulation foils, she quickly set to work. "Alright, listen," she said firmly, trying to keep her voice steady. "I’m going to help you. I’m not a doctor or anything, but I’ve got basic first aid training. You’re not going to die here, okay?"
The man didn’t respond, only groaning faintly as he stared up at her. His face was pale, his lips slightly blue—a sign that the cold was already getting to him.
She tore open the first aid kit, pulling out gauze and antiseptic. Glancing at his face, she hesitated before continuing. "This might hurt," she warned, though she doubted he’d feel much in his current state.
And so, ignoring the biting cold and the strange unease that lingered in the pit of her stomach, she worked quickly, her hands shaking but determined.
She paused as she worked, finally registering the man’s state of dress—or rather, lack thereof. His thin, torn suit looked utterly inadequate for the winter chill.
Her brow furrowed in disbelief. "Why are you dressed like this?? Oh my gosh, your skin's so cold!" Without thinking, she cupped his face, the icy temperature of his skin sending a chill through her fingers.
His unnaturally cold flesh felt wrong—like something that shouldn’t belong in the world of the living. But instead of recoiling, she frowned with concern, her warmth seeping into his skin.
"This won’t do," she muttered, reaching back into her bag. She retrieved a scarf and heat packs, quickly activating the packs before wrapping the scarf snugly around his neck and over his head. "You’re lucky I came prepared."
She glanced down at his legs again, the bear trap biting cruelly into his mangled calves. A sigh escaped her lips, heavy with frustration and worry. She clenched her hands into fists to stop them from trembling.
"Listen to me, sir," she began, meeting his pale, hauntingly beautiful eyes with a firm gaze. "I don’t have the tools to break you free here. The hospitals are too far, and there’s no signal in this forest, unfortunately."
Pennywise said nothing, but his thoughts churned.
…Is this lowly creature going to leave me behind?
A low growl nearly escaped his throat, but it died as the woman suddenly grabbed his shoulders, her touch startling him out of his building frustration. Her expression was resolute, her voice steady despite the nervous undertone.
"But! The cabin I’m staying at has tools—everything we’ll need to get you out of this. I’m sure of it. I’ll have to leave you here for a few hours to retrieve them, but I’ll set up a camp first to make sure you’re warm and safe. I promise I’ll come back for you, okay?"
Her earnest tone surprised him. For a moment, Pennywise considered the strange warmth behind her words. She believed her words. How naive, how foolish—how delightfully amusing.
Still, he played his part. His face contorted into an expression of fear and vulnerability, his voice soft and weak. "Are you… leaving me?"
He sneered inwardly, his eldritch mind marveling at how easily this creature had taken the bait.
She shook her head with a reassuring smile. "I’ll be back before you know it," she said, her tone gentle but firm. Without hesitation, she began setting up a fire pit nearby.
Pennywise watched with eerie stillness as she worked, gathering dry wood from the surrounding forest. She stacked it carefully, ensuring the fire wouldn’t spread to the surrounding trees. He could smell the human warmth radiating from her body, mingling with the faint aroma of the burning wood.
As she crouched to ignite the flames, he stared at her, calculating. She was an odd one. Most would have run screaming or left him for dead by now. Yet here she was, fussing over him like a caretaker. It was amusing. It was intriguing.
And most importantly, it was an opportunity.
His lips curled ever so slightly, just enough to show the faintest trace of sharp teeth before he quickly concealed them. This will be fun, he thought, letting the firelight dance across his pale, deceivingly human features. Very fun.
She had already wrapped him tightly in the heat insulation foil earlier, but now she added a thick, compressed blanket on top for extra warmth. Instead of letting him lie on the freezing ground, she spread another blanket underneath and gently helped him sit up. He groaned faintly as she maneuvered him, though she noted he managed to stay upright with minimal effort. At least he wasn’t completely helpless—yet.
"I’ll leave this with you," she said, holding out a wooden bead bracelet.
The man—or whatever he truly was—stared at the simple object, his pale hand hovering over it but not touching. "…What is this?" he rasped, his voice laced with genuine curiosity masking inward disdain. This abomination? he thought, his eldritch mind recoiling at the object’s ordinary and human nature.
She smiled warmly, her tone softening. "It was my grandmother’s last creation before she passed away. I cherish it dearly, so giving it to you means I’ll definitely come back. It’s my way of showing you that you don’t have to worry about being abandoned."
For a moment, the creature behind the human façade faltered. The sentimentality confused and amused him in equal measure. Why would anyone willingly part with something so precious for a complete stranger?
Her grandmother’s words echoed in her mind: "In order to convince or assure someone, you must give them a reason to believe you." The advice had seemed strange at the time, but now it felt like the most natural thing to do.
Pennywise’s lips curled ever so slightly, though his expression remained outwardly sweet and trusting. "…A hostage," he mused inwardly, relishing the irony of the situation.
"…You can think of it that way if you want," she replied, misinterpreting his expression.
She reached into her pack again and pulled out a whistle. It was small, metallic, and peculiar in design. "If you hear a howl or anything strange while I’m gone, blow on this. It’ll make a sound so shrill that even the sharpest-eared predators will hate it. Dogs, wolves, even some birds. Trust me—it works." She placed the whistle in his hand, her fingers brushing his icy skin again.
Pennywise gazed at the whistle, calculating. Such a device might actually pose a nuisance to him, but the woman’s insistence was endearing in its foolishness.
He glanced up at her, his baby-blue eyes gleaming faintly in the firelight. "…Come back immediately, then," he said, his voice tinged with an innocent sweetness.
He smiled at her—a disarmingly pure smile, the kind that might melt anyone’s heart.
The woman hesitated, her cheeks flushing slightly under his intense gaze. "I will," she said firmly, standing up and dusting off her coat. She turned to tend to the fire one last time, ensuring it wouldn’t spread while she was away.
As she moved about, Pennywise’s smile lingered, but the glint in his eyes grew darker. The bracelet on his wrist felt foreign, almost offensive in its simplicity. But it was a tool now—a tether.
"Oh, I’ll make this interesting," he thought, hiding his true nature behind the mask of a helpless victim. "Let’s see how far this little game can go."
Pennywise watched as the silhouette of the woman vanished into the woods, her figure swallowed by the snowy forest. He stayed still for a moment longer, his façade of helplessness crumbling as soon as she was out of sight.
A slow, malevolent grin stretched across his face, and he finally stopped restraining himself. Thick, viscous drool dripped from his mouth, pooling near his mangled legs. The hunger gnawing at him roared louder, demanding satisfaction.
Oh, how he craved her. How he longed to rip into her flesh, to taste her terror as it marinated with her screams. Holding himself back from devouring her the moment she approached had tested every ounce of his patience. But the payoff... oh, the payoff would be glorious.
Pennywise licked his lips, his jagged teeth briefly flashing in the dim firelight. He glanced at the bear trap still clamped around his legs, growling softly.
"Lucky for her," he muttered to himself, his voice thick with mock gratitude. "She showed up before I had to resort to... drastic measures."
Indeed, he’d been on the verge of severing his own limbs to escape the infernal trap. Though he had no doubt he could regenerate them in time, the effort would have drained him further, leaving him vulnerable and weak. No, her arrival had been most fortuitous—a delightful twist of fate.
Pennywise’s grin widened, his mind already plotting. He couldn’t kill her yet, of course. Not until she served her purpose. But after? Oh, after he was free...
The clown chuckled, his laughter low and guttural at first, growing into a gleeful crescendo that echoed through the forest. His fingers twitched as he imagined her fear, her despair, the sweet music of her cries as he tore her apart.
"I cannot kill this woman... yet," he murmured, his voice dripping with anticipation. "But soon... very soon..."
With a grotesque wet sound, his form shifted. The pale, injured human man melted away, replaced by his most favored disguise: Pennywise, the Dancing Clown.
He smoothed down his dirty, bloodstained suit, the oversized buttons glinting faintly in the firelight. His head tilted unnaturally as his painted lips curved into an exaggerated smile.
"Huehuehuehue," he chuckled softly, the sound a sickening mix of mirth and malice.
For now, he would wait. But his hunger—his hunger was insatiable. And when the time came, the feast would be worth every agonizing moment of restraint.
The fire crackled beside him, casting flickering shadows across the snow. Pennywise stared into the flames, his otherworldly eyes glowing faintly.
The game had begun.
Shane's POV
Ah, shit. What a really shitty day.
First, I got chased by a small, snarling baby grizzly bear. Cute, right? Wrong. It was adorable for all of three seconds until the little terror decided to chase me, crying loud enough to summon Mama Bear. A meeting I’d really rather not attend. I’m not looking forward to being greeted with claws coated in my own blood, thanks. I was just trying to stock up my supplies at a cabin I found near the road. You know, a safe, cozy hideout to wait out the snowstorm. Clearly, life had other plans.
Second, I found a dead body. At least, I thought it was dead. My first reaction? “Oh, shit, jail.” Me and jail, getting real cozy in my mental breakdown. My brain instantly jumped to the worst-case scenario: I’m at the scene of a crime, no witnesses to back me up, and I’ve been bleeding from scratching my feet on branches like some lost woodland idiot. Leave it to my overthinking to immediately sentence me to life behind bars.
But then...
Oh, thank God, he’s alive!
And wow—those eyes. Baby blue with a hint of green, like they were handcrafted by some divine artist who thought, “Yeah, let’s make every woman within a five-mile radius swoon.” Even in his pathetic, half-dead state, the man looks like a tragic prince from some overly dramatic fairytale.
'Damn,' I thought.
But then reality snapped back into place.
Shit. That’s a nasty wound.
Both his legs were mangled beyond belief, and the bear trap wasn’t helping. Blood had soaked through his gray suit and was starting to freeze in the snow. It was like something out of a horror movie, only this time, I’m the idiot protagonist who decided not to run.
What’s worse? This guy was too calm. Like, eerily calm. Most people would be screaming bloody murder, but no, this dude just lay there, blinking at me like he had all the time in the world.
'You can’t feel your legs, huh?' I’d love to ask him, like really ask him that.
Dude, you’ve got a bear trap gnawing on your calves, and you sound like you just missed the bus.
Anyway, after the initial panic (and me thinking of every crime drama ever), I did what any responsible adult would do: I wrapped him up like a poorly made burrito, handed him a bracelet that could double as a hostage negotiation tool, and promised I’d come back with help.
But let me tell you, even as I walked away, I couldn’t shake the weird feeling that something was off about this guy. I mean, who wears a simple suit in the middle of the forest? Who’s this calm while their legs look like chewed-up meatloaf?
Oh well. At least he’s not dead. Yet.
....
Okay, let’s recap. First, I had to sprint for nearly fifteen minutes with a ridiculous backpack and two huge poles—iron poles, mind you—dragging behind me like some kind of poor man’s circus act. If I’d been any less stubborn, I’d have ditched that crap on the way. But I’d been through enough weird shit today, and I wasn’t about to leave anything behind when the guy might need it.
I had to dig around the damn storage cabin until I found what I needed: a lever and chain cutter, rope, leather straps, and those ridiculously heavy poles. But hey, at least I wasn’t going to come back empty-handed.
So now, after all that chaos, here I am again, back at the scene of the crime, trailing behind me the mess of equipment I’d scavenged. And, you know, the blood I left behind earlier from a rabbit I’d found. Honestly, I’m impressed that my own survival instincts managed to kick in at least a little. Those rabbit markings would lead me back. Plus, they’d help the poor guy, too... well, if he didn’t get his ass eaten by a bear trap first.
I could hardly breathe by the time I reached him, my arms aching with the weight of it all, but at least I was back. I took a deep breath and started laying out the tools. The first thing I did was shove a handkerchief in the guy’s mouth.
"Hey, I'm back. Sit still and bite down on this, will you?" I said, voice a little more sharp than I meant.
"Okay, I’m gonna make it swift, alright?" I said, squatting down beside him. "When I say ‘three’, hold your breath. It’s gonna hurt like a bitch."
I looked at him seriously, trying to ignore the way his piercing blue eyes kept staring at me. I couldn’t tell if he was grateful or plotting some weird, twisted revenge. Maybe both.
"One..."
The wind picked up a little, the cold biting at my skin, but I could barely feel it. I focused entirely on the task at hand.
"Three!" I shouted.
And then... snap.
The cutter went straight through the wire, severing it from the trap.
His gaze locked onto me with a venomous glare, as if I had somehow insulted his pride. And that’s when I realized—he was waiting for the second count.
“Where’s the ‘two’??” His silent, seething thoughts echoed in my mind. I swear he was about to roast me alive, but hey, I didn’t have time for that drama right now.
Pennywise (in his Robert Gray form)
The wire snapped, the trap loosened, and yet I stayed still, watching her with a careful eye. The pain in my legs still flared, but I had learned to endure much worse. I didn’t let on how much it hurt. It was irrelevant. This was a game, a test of wills, and I was going to savor every second of it.
She immediately got to work, her hands steady despite the frantic energy that buzzed under the surface. First aid, bandages, disinfectant—she moved with precision. She was resourceful, a little too resourceful for her own good. She didn’t flinch, not once, even as she carefully cleaned the mess I’d made of my legs.
stayed quiet for a while, letting her do her thing, and watched her. There was something... intriguing about the way she moved. Her brows furrowed, lips pressed into a determined line, but there was a little something in her eyes—something I hadn’t expected to see in someone so normal.
She wasn’t scared.
Oh, she was cautious—wise—but not scared. Not like the others.
Something told me she wasn’t one to be easily fooled.
When she spoke again, it was almost like she was trying to fill the silence, trying to bridge the gap between us with words.
“The name’s Shane. Yours?” She asked, looking up from my legs for a brief second. Her voice was calm, despite everything. She wasn’t trembling. Not even a little.
For a fleeting moment, I considered answering in a tone that would send her running. Maybe a taunt, a chuckle, to let her know that she had no idea what she was dealing with. But something stopped me.
I let my lips curl into a smile, a smile so serene that it was almost disarming. Robert Gray was a name I’d adopted a long time ago, far before this pitiful, wounded human had stumbled upon me. A normal name, a mask. But she deserved at least that much, didn’t she?
“What a pretty name you have, my lady,” I said, my voice warm, smooth. It was an effort to sound as human as possible, even though every cell in my body screamed to break free from this pretense. “Robert Gray.”
I watched her work in silence for a moment longer, my gaze unwavering. She was focused, stitching my calves with careful precision, her eyes flicking between the wounds, her lips set in concentration.
I almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. A simple human, who thought she could help me.
And as I stared at her, I wondered: Was this kindness... a mistake on her part? Or would it be the one thing that truly saved her from what I had become?
I wasn’t sure if it was because she truly believed I was no threat, or if she was simply pretending, but either way, it was a game now. I was curious—curious to see how long this bravery of hers would last. Would it hold, or would the truth of what I was drive her into madness?
"Mr. Gray, does anything hurt at all?" Shane asked, her voice calm and steady as she finished wrapping the bandages around his mangled legs.
Her words pulled him from the haze of his thoughts. His mind had wandered to darker places, thoughts swirling like a whirlpool of hunger and amusement. Innocence—it was the sweetest delicacy, especially when served fresh from the source. Children’s fear, pure and untainted by life’s cruelties... delicious. It had been so long since he’d had that taste.
That little boy, what was his name again? Ah, yes... Georgie. That precious, terrified little soul. How he screamed. How he ran. Fear was food for the likes of him. The flesh of the innocent, trembling with fear, was like a banquet.
The memory of it caused his lips to twitch. His mouth watered, salivating, as he let his thoughts drift again. He could almost taste it. Georgie—so sweet, so full of terror. That was the best part. No barriers, no jaded experiences. Just pure, untainted terror.
His drool threatened to spill, but he clamped his jaw shut just in time.
Then, Shane spoke again, and the harsh tug of the bandage drew his focus back to her. "Mr. Gray, does anything hurt at all?"
Hurt? Oh, he wasn’t so sure anymore. His body was in pain, yes, but it wasn’t the kind of pain that mattered. His legs had been shredded and mangled, yet he felt nothing in the way he usually did. Being in this form... this mortal form, bound by the rules of human physiology, did restrict him.
“No, my feet feel numb because of the cold...” He grinned, flashing his teeth at her, every word uttered with a knowing, predatory edge. “… Shane.”
It felt strange saying her name—tasting it in his mouth like an appetizer before the main course. He let it linger, savoring the sound of it. Her name. Her soul. How long would she remain so… unaware?
The bandage tightened again, and with it, a sharp pain shot through his spine.
It burned.
Being in this human form had its limitations. It had its rules, and he hated it. Hated being bound to the fragility of flesh. The pain that normally would have been negligible, even laughable, had now become a bitter, irritating reality.
“Ahh...” He forced a grin, hiding the discomfort, but the pain burned. It was unlike anything he was used to. The sensation of being trapped, restricted. The pain was real, gnawing at him, pulling him closer to the edge of his true self, where his strength roared. But not yet. Not yet.
“Does it... hurt now?” Shane asked again, clearly uncertain but still focused on her task.
He let the smile remain. A fake, empty thing that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Not at all,” he lied smoothly. “The numbness is... fine. It’s not enough to be bothersome.” He paused and met her gaze, his grin widening into something almost playful.
Inside, he was growing impatient. The charade was fun, but his mind was already racing ahead to darker thoughts. So much time had been wasted already. He could feel the hunger gnawing at the pit of his stomach, could feel the yearning for that sweet, innocent terror welling up again.
But for now, he had to wait. The game wasn’t over yet.
“I do enjoy the... preparation.”