Author: LJ1983 PM
What became of Kirsty Cotton following Hellseeker? Each of the following drabbles is an outcome to her fate...Some happy, some not so happy.Rated: Fiction M - English - Drama/Horror - Kirsty - Chapters: 3 - Words: 4,633 - Reviews: 10 - Favs: 5 - Follows: 3 - Updated: 03-05-13 - Published: 06-10-12 - id: 8204422
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Note: I hope you all enjoy the second drabble here. Sorry it took so long to write. Please note; tense switches are deliberate. This is a POV. It's a little dark so don't expect too much of a happy ending. XD.
Decisions, decisions. What to do with a device so powerful, so dangerous, when it's in your possession and you cannot rid of it without it coming back to you. For Kirsty Cotton, her life following the murder of her husband has took an unexpected turn and she uses the box once which entranced her as a teenager to lure in more greedy and lustful - if unwitting - fools. And all in the name of lust and desire she feels for the one who claimed her darkening soul over a decade before, and has relentlessly pursued her since...This is in Kirsty's POV.
They all have their own reasons.
Most are of course led by simple lust. Those naive fools think that they have tried all manner of pleasures offered by their world, and then greedily want more out of it. They are all identical; cocky, narrow-minded, rude and vicious. Entirely. My bastard Uncle Frank fell into this category.
For the box they are willing to give out all their money, their worldly possessions and - if they have nothing - they are more than willing to go to extreme measures; by robbing or even killing someone. But why bother? I will never touch their money, and all their 'precious' things will end in the trash can or be burned. For Cenobites, those people are like the everyday meal; you don't get any thrill from it, but just can't stop eating it.
Then there are those who are led to the box by their intelligence. We call them the 'Seekers'. Like one Doctor Channard, and him. They consider themselves researchers who want to discover and experience the unknown not for their own pleasure, but for the sake of some higher purpose, which sometimes they do not fully understand. Some seek out of pain or inner turmoil, just as he did so many years before my birth. I know of this, because he told me not long ago, following the luring of another soul. When dealing, they talk to me as equals, try to bargain appropriately. It may seem weird, but Hell likes those seekers. A high majority of them later become Cenobites.
There are those who consider themselves a 'random victim'. They don't need the box, and don't even know why they are asking for it. I believe they are led by their curiosity. This is the only category of people whom I can hintly caution of what awaits them if they open the box. But in my experience, no-one had ever changed their minds, and sealed their fate anyway. Cenobites barely consider them are one-time fun. They are simply... boring.
And then there is 'family' category, when the Supplicant's relatives find the box. I fell into this category. Don't I know it?! They do not need what Hell can offer them. So they claim. They do it in ignorance, so he told me once. In other words, they don't understand what lies beyond when they solve the box. Perhaps this is why most of them prefer to run away and pretend that their loved one is dead, not missing in action, rather than deciding at the last step. Although there are those who dare through curiosity.
Oh, and, of course, do not forget 'Cenobitics'. If you'll see them on the street, you'll think that they are just regular S&M lovers. Though in fact they are these Cenobitics. It's just that they consider themselves to be 'chosen' and dream of becoming real Cenobites while having no brains and no talent to even begin to fathom what Cenobites actually are or what they're dealing with. The only thing they can do is walk around in leather, having sado-masochist orgies and use vanilla perfume. The only talent they're capable of is that they can open the box when all the 'clan' is present, supplying Hell with many souls at once. Well, if quantity can compensate quality.
But how would I, Kirsty Cotton - nemesis of Hell and legendary for her bargains with demons, know of all this?
Well, it's all quite simple really.
In the many years since my husband's passing, I admit through my own hand, I have witnessed hundreds and possibly thousands in their droves of these differing kinds of souls seeking the box. This was because in my solitude, my loneliness, my descent into the dark depths of my own dark desires and lusts, I found myself...dealing.
Dealing the box.
Yes. In the ten years since Trevor died, I have dealt with many sinners, lost souls, S&M freaks and seekers, all craving their drug...a different and much more dangerous kind of drug.
The very first time I did my dealing it was only because I wished to be rid of the damn thing. I believed if I sold it on to whoever was most willing, the box would be gone forever...out of my life, along with him.
But no. It wasn't as simple as that. The box, like a boomerang, kept coming back to me, time and time again...every single time a new soul was fed to them. Every single encounter with him, he would smile that usual emotionless and sneaky smile and press the incredibly warm box back into my sweaty hands. It all became clear after half a dozen souls; the Lament had elected me, chose me to find its souls.
Sinners of all creeds, sizes, ages...even sexes...seeked me out to solve the mysterious riddle that was the LeMarchand's box, because I had become - what he referred to me as - the 'Guardian of the Puzzle', or the 'Puzzle Guardian' to be more precise.
Or simply as I call myself...a Guardian.
Usually, Guardians are lonely figures, homeless hobos with seemingly nothing of value in this world. They huddle around fires in the street trying to keep warm. They look sad, pitiful. But beneath their tatty and grubby facade they hide a terrible, inhuman secret.
Most of these are actually not human, and are in fact of more demonic origin. I should know; I seen one in action so many years ago, back when I was ignorant. They are agents for Hell on Earth, helping to lure in more souls via the box that they sell to their Supplicants.
And that is precisely what I've become, except the homeless part.
No. I lure my victims at nightclubs and bars, dressed in my finest sexy outfits and revealing bulging cleavage. I gather quite the harvest of admiring stares my way, and every night is a success. Men cannot resist me, especially when I turn on the charm. To them, I'm simply an attractive but lonely widow, seeking out comfort. If only they knew. But usually, I know it's not my seductive appearance that has enticed them in...it's the pull of the Lament Configuration, luring them to their destiny, to their fates. I am merely the web for the cunning spider to use. The Supplicants are usually the happy customer. Until they open the box and come face to face with my...colleagues. My...lover.
Then the denials, the cussing, the stubbornness follows.
But it makes no difference.
By this time, I have seen the same old sickening display time and time again that I do not even look away anymore...when a soul is ripped apart, limb from limb. I have grown accustomed to the sights now. To his amusement and approval, I can sense.
I am in my rather spacious apartment as I deal in this latest soul...a balding middle aged alcoholic who couldn't believe his luck when he crossed my path. Of course, he had been more than willing to solve the box, but less than willing to accompany the Cenobites.
My flippancy pissed him off, but impressed my master. Deep down, I know that this was what I wanted all along.
I want to impress him.
I shudder as he nears my semi naked body, his pins tickling against my neck causing my hairs to stand up on end as he hovers behind me.
"Are you going to say no to me again, Kirsty?" I hear him purr into my ear, his deeply sensual voice making me aroused. My breasts have grown gooseflesh at this point. "Are you to again deny what is truly mine?"
I smile cunningly, victoriously, but don't attempt to make a reply.
He is right of course. This is a game, an elaborate game of chase between a predator and its prey. Deep down, I know that I want him, that I desire him. Many times our encounters following the solving of the box have ended up as sexual encounters...and a passionate lover he is too. But to this night I steadfastly refuse to actually say aloud that I want him and what he offers me...that I want him to take me to the Labyrinth and bestow me with his sweet tortures, as he'd always promised me. Instead, I remain in stubborn denial and refuse his offer to come with him. Sure, I allow him to fuck me as he pleases most encounters. But it's my way of teasing him...so I've convinced myself.
But, that could be a fine lie. I've lied to myself for so many years.
He knows me, inside and out. And there's nothing I can do about it. But I enjoy our games together. The thrill of the chase.
And now, as I feel the sharp edge of his knife teasing against my delicate skin - with him fighting the urge to both tear me apart and 'love' me, I gracefully slide away from him and coo; "Haven't you got our guest to attend to?"
He smirks, amused by my cool denial and calm attitude. He immediately shrinks away, placing his knife back onto his belt. He smiles at me before he departs back into his world...a world which I long to taste, but in the meanwhile would rather serve on the outside, in a world which I have grown so bored of.
"Farewell, my Guardian." He says to me finally after a moment of silence. "Until our next encounter. I hope our last."
And then he leaves...retreating back into that dark maze of a world.
I smirk defiantly and slip on my robe to cover up the flesh I've been exposing for all this time. I look down and notice that the blood and guts spilled from the last soul has vanished, like the torture of the man never happened or took place at all. That's one beauty about those Cenobites; they clean up the evidence without me having to worry about cleaning it up.
Despite how I've grown used to this second identity, and how I actually revel in it secretly...I sometimes catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror...and see the young girl that I used to be, the innocent girl who happened to stumble across the box and was supposedly frightened by what she saw. But now, she looks older and harder...and darker. Seductive. And I sometimes wonder...what happened to that sweet girl I used to be?
But...she's gone. She's no more of this world. She's took over by what stands in this apartment right now...practically naked and stood with the portal to Hell in her grasp. One day she will take the hand of the Dark Prince and be led to her destiny...but for now, despite what he refers to me as 'The Guardian', I am happy to be The Black Widow...