A/N: Spice speaking. Gah! It's all...smushed! Anyway, this is yet another piece I wrote for my creative writing class. A while ago, actually, and I just now remember to put it up. -shakes head sadly- I plead scatterbrained!
Hands slip around my neck from behind, and I choke back a sob of horror, the sound tearing from my throat becoming a strangled gasp. I see wisps of raven hair in my peripheral vision, the glint of a silver mask, calculating amethyst eyes. Him. My blood runs cold. I am frozen in fear, though even if I had been able to move, I could not possibly hope to match his strength. Perhaps on different terms, but not here, not now. My heart races in terror, and I know that he knows I am afraid, because his icy, clawed thumb is pressed firmly against my jugular. I feel my pulse pounding in that vein, and I can almost see the eerie grin on his lips. Cold, clammy fingers tighten slowly around my throat. Not strong enough to cause any real harm, but enough to restrict my breathing, already shallow in fear. Strong enough to show that he could snap my neck any time he chooses, instantly, cleanly. Easily, too easily. When did I become so frail? Dark chuckles reverberate in my ear, and I swallow dryly, uncomfortably, due to his iron grip. One slim hand releases my neck to stroke my hair, though his remaining hand stays on my neck and is no less firm. He croons softly, perhaps attempting to soothe me, still petting my red locks. He tells me of my beauty, my grace, my fighting prowess. He tells me of how I used to be, but he didn't know me then. Few people did, and of those few, most are dead or scarred beyond recognition. People simply were not to know who I was. He tells me that he desires my beauty, and that I will belong to him. I want to tell him exactly where he can go, but my voice will not obey my commands. I would rather die than submit to him. I would rather die! Raspy breath flutters against my cheek as he leans forward. Midnight tresses that smell of blood spill over my shoulder. Somehow, I believe he knows what I am thinking, for he applies a bit more pressure to my windpipe, causing me to choke. Shock numbs my senses as I comprehend the implication of this gesture. I clamp my eyes shut and wait to die.
A/N: Oh, this is Karasu and Kurama, by the way. Not that I'm insulting your intellegence by suggesting you didn't figure that out already, but for those of you running on two hours of sleep, I thought I'd clear that up.