Mr Dark’s Designs
Blood dripped from her broken nails as she scrabbled at the shutters, compounding the constant agony below.
She gagged on the sewer sweat reek of an approaching vagrant.
“He’s gone. Left last night. Won’t be back I reckon. You’re the third today”
“The third. Big guy with the painted face, the stripper from the club with the arms. You’ll be the legs by the looks.”
“And different. Calm. Serene almost. Skin like a baby, not a mark on him.”
“No, he has these... and more.”
“Not any more. Said he’d paltered away his curse marks. And his pain."
This was written for Stevie McCoy's Tuesday Tales 61