It talked in her mind then, a voice soft as silk and seemingly kind. It told her of what they would do together, of how important she was. As she sat in the darkness, enjoying the strange feeling of wearing the cloak, she listened. The girl listened to what the voice said, agreeing with it most times and obeying it other times. She barely noticed as the strange sensation turned to that of a cozy, warm feeling, like she were wrapped in the warmest blankets. The sensation spread through her arms and torso and the rest of her, leaving cuts in their wake. The cuts bled but she felt no pain; in fact, she felt good. 

 After a several moments of the whispers and the warm sensation, her cuts turned to blood-red symbols along her body, resembling tattoos more than cuts. Last to change were her eyes, and they simply glowed light blue, as if reflective. Only the bottom part of her face was visible from the darkness of her hood, however, as she grasped her candle and blew out the flame. 

 She barely noticed as she obeyed the voice in her head, climbing back down the attic ladder and stalking down the hallway. She made a sharp turn toward a door some ways down the hall, pushing it open and stepping inside. A man and woman slept in a bed similar to hers, albeit larger. She recognized them as her parents, people she loved dearly. However, for reasons unknown to her, she felt only anger when looking at them. She felt hateful suddenly, wrathful. Nearby, a fireplace smoldered. She obeyed the voice, approaching the fireplace and grasping a metal stoker. She then turned to the two sleeping people, a devious smile curling her lips. She stepped to the left side of the bed, her mother's body slowly shifting in slumber. The girl raised the stoker at the height of her mothers throat, tensing her arms. The voice begged her to strike, but she hesitated. Something in her told her she shouldn't. Suddenly, the voice gave a forceful push, making her want to do it as if it were a deep desire of hers. The feeling overruled her hesitation, her arms thrusting forward to insert the metal stoker directly into her mother's throat. The older woman burst from sleep in a panic, grasping the stoker as it punctured through her throat. She couldn't scream, however, as the girl gave another thrust of her arms. Her mother gurgled, blood oozing from her mouth and throat. Where the girl should feel sorrow and horror, she felt only pleasure. The scarlet liquid shifted toward her suddenly, as if pulled by suction. It moved toward her figure, and she felt a great satisfaction from it. 

 Suddenly, her father jumped from sleep, confused and seemingly ready to scream in terror. She, without thinking, raised her right hand to have the blood from her victim rush forth in the form of claws, grasping her father's throat tightly and ripping outward. He fell onto the ground near his bed as his throat was torn free with the sound of stripping meat. She slowly walked over to him, standing above him and smiling. He grasped his throat, gurgling blood, his other hand held toward her as if to beg her to stop. She manipulated the scarlet fluid that ran from his dying body, the liquid forming two hands to grasp his bottom and top jaws. Then, with a pulling gesture of her hand, the two scarlet claws ripped in opposite directions, unhinging his jaw with an earsplitting crack. 

The End

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