Malevolence knew she had fucked up good this time. She winced as she sat in the corner of her room, staring at the white wash walls. Her mahogany hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, and she was tempted to release it, to hide her shame. She remembered her master's warning however, and she sat still. She had disobeyed him and was in enough trouble already.
She felt the tears form and sting her eyes, blurring her vision. How could she have lost it like that? She remembered nothing from her tantrum, but when she came to she had seen the damage she had caused, her fangs dripping with the blood of the innocent girl her master had taken into his home. She looked down shamefully at her porcelain skin, her arms and hands still stained with the girl's blood. Malevolence had seen the way her master had looked at the girl, and, in a fit of jealous rage, she had blacked out. The girl's blood had stained her starch white tunic a deep, now brownish red. She smiled rather sadistically in remembrance of the girl's face, how it had contorted in terror...wait. Did she really remember that?
Yes, for within her subconscious, she had seen everything. It all came flooding back to her now: how she had walked up to the girl after her master had retired to his chambers the night before, how she had grabbed her by her throat and, flashing her fangs in a malicious smile, she ripped the girl's esophagus out and feasted on her blameless, virgin blood, pure, sweet and deliciously warm, like that of a new born calf. The girl had balked like one too, pathetic little cun—
"The master summons you to his chambers, miss," her reverie was interrupted by one of the maids of the manor. She turned and hissed at the bitch, but the lass smirked at her, "'tis not my fault that you couldn't control yourself," she said snootily as she stalked off. Malevolence cringed, knowing the maid was right. She rose, and strode quickly to his chambers, knowing that he did not like to be kept waiting...she reached the giant oak doors and, inhaling deeply, let out a shuddery sigh as she knocked.
"Enter" boomed the voice of her master. She timidly opened the doors and entered, quietly closing the doors behind her. Lysander was not a small man. In fact, he resembled that of a Sequoia, tall and foreboding. He had long black hair, always pulled back in a ponytail, and piercing pitch black eyes. He had had his back to her, his starch white cotton shirt casting flickering shadows on the burgundy walls because of the fireplace's ghostly glow. He held his hands behind his back and she winced again, noting that his feet were shoulder width apart, a sure sign of his anger. He turned and looked deep into her violet eyes, the fire casting an eerie, livid gleam in his eyes. "Strip, Malevolence," his voice was low and dangerous, leaving no room for neither argument, nor hesitation. She obeyed immediately, and, discarded her tunic. As a rule, she was forbidden to wear anything underneath it. She stood, trembling and bare naked, before him. He nodded his approval and strode over to the bench. He gestured to her, and she went to him.
"Master, I—"she was silenced by a raise of his hand.
"I will have none of it, Malevolence, you know what you did was inexcusable," he said shortly.
"But master, sh--" Lysander grabbed Malevolence's wrist, pulling her over the bench and bringing large, firm hand over her backside. She yelped and became quiet again.
