Smiling and humming quietly to herself she lit the large 5-pronged candelabra. It was made of iron inlaid with silver and onyx and was one of her favo...ite possessions. It was almost as old as she was. The dark purple candles smelled of musk and rose with a hint of pepper. There was a knock at the thick dark oak door, and after looking though the peephole she threw it open, her eyes opening wide as she thought to herself, Why is he here? Why must he come see me...now? But she didn't speak those. A Purpose he was good at it. And better yet, he liked it. His attention was drawn back to the bloody, abused girl in his hands. He carried her by the throat back through the door and down the rickety basement steps. Her fingers were digging into his hands, nails drawing bloody furrows, her bare feet were kicking at his legs. He didn’t feel it. All he felt was the pull of attraction to the knife. The pull to the power, the omnipotence of having control over life and death. He felt his Purpose.. More

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