Drops of beautiful, sacred scarlet.
A mouth stretched wide as the tongue curled out in a harsh growl, begging with the taunting powers that be for some kindness.
The man above simply turned away, rubbing his sparkling assistant slowly, dragging the gray piece of cloth up and down in a rhythmic motion. Faced with the stolid back of the omnipotent being, the chair could only whine pitifully, sensing the crimson liquid that was so close to its reach. Its wishes were denied cruelly as the master stepped away soundlessly, gazing out the murky windows instead of giving attention to his loyal servant.
The ghoulish structure could only observe, glaring fervently at the metal blades tucked away in pale, ghostly hands. It watched as they somehow glistened and glittered in the darkness, illuminating what would have otherwise stayed a peacefully dismal room.
Envy, dying the fabric green from the wooden legs to the tip of the high back, seeped through the floor with a phlegmatic but toxic atmosphere. The very air seemed to crackle with the furious tension that rose from the clothed form, becoming almost tangible if someone had tried to grasp it.
This all was unnoticeable or unimportant with the one who stood aside, just out of range for the calloused claws. The frozen body simply stood nonchalantly, occasionally shifting eyes towards the door, the dark recesses of his thoughts revealed by the terrifying gleam.
Things had shifted with the passing of what was only a few short days. The affection of a doting killer had been drained from the trapped spirit, instead becoming fixated on the finer, more precise tool. His mutterings and musings were heard only by the never-dulled listener that seemed molded into his arm. Once the cool metal touched his hand, the skin grew over it with the ferocity of choking ivy; refusing to allow escape and instead clutching manically without release.
The man across the room had grown edgy of late. His skills remained as polished as ever, but tainted with such a fervor and poisonous passion that with each slice the blood might fly across the room. While this action was admired, it also become perplexing, as the steel armor began to crack for longer periods of time, allowing the fury to ooze out of its crevices and drip onto the floor, their smoking bodies melting the wood and leaving it with molten pitfalls for any man to disappear into.
This crazed disposition had led to many oddities; one being the odd boy downstairs making a visit to the secluded room that he often avoided as if it contained the plague. His suspicious hand had left with a letter in its grip, invisible blood along its corners just like everything else the master touched.
He had forced the boy on his way with hateful eyes, boring holes into his back until he had disappeared into the streets, and only letting his right hand man in on the deed he was preparing with such haste. His thoughts he kept shielded from his loyal servant, instead choosing to throw his razor atop the simmering cloth before bounding out of the room.
The two sat, closer to one another than they had ever been and yet their animosity had never been so strong. The enmity became visible in the air, tangible auras that threatened and twisted, trying to outdo one another in another desperate performance of power and regard. Before either could strike, their world began to spin in such a blur that any understanding fell prey to the intensity.
In an instant, an intruder had dared to enter, but had been quickly silenced with a flash of silver through skin. Only a second passed until she was gone, and a new, imposing figure had the courage to stand in the doorway.
The air changed upon his arrival. It became charged with anticipation and a cruel eagerness, dyed black by the sins that the barber was already preparing to commit, as soon the floor would be dyed red.
The chair welcomed the man into its embrace, boasting of its catch as the razor gleamed in preparation, moving along the victim's open throat with the swift guiding of its leading hand. With every deadly pass, it gleamed a wink against its counterpart, mocking it still with a gall that had gone unknown before this violent point.
Skin was broken before another gesture could be made, rivets of blood dripping down from the mangled throat as geysers flowed brilliantly with a crimson glow. The blade was covered in it, dripping red in the moonlight, and it had covered the man's face in a devil's mask, only coal eyes shining to show he lived. The chair felt the blood sink into its fabric with delight, cherishing the way it soaked its way deeper and deeper into the threads, giving it sick life with every drop.
Again, things changed too rapidly to count.
The man was gone, fallen backwards as both the master and his servant grinned together. The razors were lowered, slid onto the floor while the chair beamed, his opponent laid to rest while he still breathed. Suddenly there was a feminine boy on his seat, but then the master was gone with his razor, leaving the trembling visitor so shy from the room, leaving only a trail of terror in his wake.
The chair stood alone, drenched in beautiful blood but abandoned and left without purpose. Time passed, the liquid beginning to dry and turn a horrid brown, ruining to the glory of what had been shed. Then for the last time, something began to happen that it could not understand.
Unfamiliar men burst into the room, letting out hoarse shouts and cries that set the chair on an uneasy edge. They gaped at the blood, pointing to where it had splattered artistically on the glass pane of the window. They turned to the chair, one accidentally stepping on the metal pedal and releasing its fury. It let out a shriek of delight and pride at the astonished looks that spread across the gaping faces.
It's joyous spectacle did not last long. The chair was abruptly ripped from its place by bizarre tools and condemning hands. They carried it out of the room even as it screamed and moaned in protest, unable to fight against their murderous grip as they tore it from its home. The worse was still yet to come.
The spirit was tossed upon the filthy, gritty ground, its blood-soaked fabric overrun with grime and dirt. Without warning, the men began to dismember it, ripping each digit off its frame piece by piece until it was nothing more than a broken mess on the ground. They closed their ears to the howls of anguish and the yowls begging for at least an ounce of pity.
A match was lit, its flame burning the air with a demeaning flicker before it was tossed, flying through the air with only one destination.
The fabric caught aflame immediately, the heated hands crawling to each piece of wood, every metal finger and limb until it was all burning with an orange glow.
There were no sounds this time, to pleas or wishes. The chair burned in a dignified silence, slowly slipping to ashes with every second that took its life. Betrayal radiated through the air, cursing each of those men even though they could not explain the chill that ran through their iron hearts. The worst of it was sent towards the master, wherever he might be, the one who had deserted and left its partner to be maimed and eaten by an enemy who for once he couldn't conquer.
It's invisible eyes shone with the light of the dancing flames, and in a few minutes it was nothing more than dust and a few charred cogs, which were thrown into the pile of rubble to be forgotten forever more.
Author's Note : This didn't exactly come out as I had wished either, but I did try my best to fix it to my liking. I always kind of wondered what happened to the chair after it was found, which was something we got to think for ourselves since the ending left that open.
Sorry for any spelling or grammar errors that eluded me. To be honest, I was too hungry to check well
I hope you enjoyed it, and please review. Thank you for reading.