There's a plant in the courtyard, all purple and brown, leaves almost dried to dust, with dark, dessicated berries. Perhaps you saw it when they dragged you in here?


It's close to death, almost ready to give up the ghost and isn't that the beautiful moment? When a victim has struggled to stay alive through all the exquisite anguish, torture, and blood; and then there's that moment when I can see it in their eyes, that they've accepted death. They've stopped fighting it. They've stopped fighting me. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I'm going to see that look in your eyes.