A few crimson flecks speckled the dull yellow curved ends of a lifeless pair of gloves that hung in the air. Seemingly blood-stained digits flexed slowly in the black void that stretched endlessly from all angles. The movement of the fingers was well coordinated and precise. Suddenly, a gleaming card flipped between them. It seemed to dance across the creaking, folding gloves, the shriek and sing of the blade floated through the silence.

Just behind the somewhat amusing if not pointless display loomed a pair of pale blue eyes, they were thin, as if laughing at the gloves for their foolishness. Then came the ivory razors. Shards of white emerged under the pale bemused lines and continued multiplying into a cruelly curved grin.

"I hear him…"

A soft yet chillingly odd chuckle resounded from the white crescent. Two red folds of what could only be described as thick canvas peered from the darkness to encircle the faceless features. That was all it was, the most terrifying aspects of malicious intent made up this apparition.

Two eyes stared from under shadowy lids. A thin black gash in the center of the ghostly blue was all that would divulge the intended target of torment and torture.

Just under the trained focus rested a reaction, a suggestion, and intent, everything contained within a single gesture. The terrible grin reached from proverbial ear to proverbial ear.

These two features were enough to sum the creature that shouldn't have existed. Sadistic glee within a blood-red hat and mantle, there was nothing more simple, and nothing more terrifying; a nightmare.

"He's almost here…"

The laughter bubbled up once more, playfully bounding along the walls, chasing away the darkness to reveal an absurdly contradictory surrounding. The nonexistent creature blended in with his surroundings in a surreal and sickening ironic sense. His crimson and sunset cloak appeared to be wallpaper amongst the playful room. Curved horns of the ridiculous jester's hat reflected the tears and folds of the tapestries along the walls. The floating hands and long boots gave a marionette-like appearance to their owner. It was a sick parody of what should be a joyful scene, thus was this lone room in the Soft Museum.

The door opened slowly, delicately sculpted skin toned fingers curled around the edge of the entrance.

A single word that held all the hopes of an innocent being was uttered and instantly tainted under the toxic intentions of its owner.

"Playtime."