Beguile

8 Those who worships

There was no denying that he was beautiful.

His skin was pale, almost translucent, with a smoothness that seemed untouched by the harshness of the world.

His hair was a striking blonde, unusual and captivating.

But his green eyes were perhaps the most striking feature of all. They were deep and vivid, like the leaves of the forest after a rain. They held a mix of emotions—regret, sorrow, and a glimmer of hope. When he looked at me, I felt as if he could see right through to my soul, as if he can see who I truly am.

And I find comfort on that.

The way he hums, it was a simple, almost absent-minded melody but there was something about his voice that intertwined with the sounds of the forest.

As I watched him, he caught my gaze and instinctively tried to cover the scar on his lips. His ears turned red with embarrassment, a flush that seemed so out of place on his otherwise pale skin.

He had been wearing a face mask every day, trying to hide what he perceived as a monstrous flaw. But in reality, the scar did nothing to diminish his beauty.

"Why do you hide it?" I found myself asking, my voice soft.

He glanced at me, his eyes filled with a mix of vulnerability and surprise. "Because it's ugly," he simply said. "I don't want people to see it."

"But it's not."

His blush deepened, and he looked down. "You don't have to lie," he muttered. "I may look clumsy, but I'm really doing my best to make sure you don't end up like me. Scarred. Ugly."

His thumb circled around my wrist, a small, almost comforting gesture.

"What do you mean?" I whispered.

He lifted his gaze, his green eyes locking onto mine with a chilling intensity. There was no hint of a lie, only a cold, unwavering truth.

"I want you to be perfect," he said softly, his words sending a shiver down my spine. "Perfect until I get the chance to flay you and make your skin the perfect piece of furniture."

His expression was calm, almost serene, as if he had just told me a simple fact rather than a horrifying threat. The contrast between his gentle demeanor and the brutality of his words made my blood run cold.

I wanted to pull away, to run, but his grip on my wrist tightened just enough to hold me in place.

"Rie," I wanted to understand. Hes too..... different. Almost sane than those I encountered. "Why?"

"Because perfection is fleeting," he replied, his tone almost philosophical. "And I want to capture it, preserve it. You have the potential to be perfect, and I can't let that go to waste."

"I... I won't let you," I said, trying to sound brave, though my voice betrayed my fear.

"You don't have a choice," he said simply. "But don't worry. I'll make sure you're perfect before the end."

"Kennedy!"

The sound echoed through the forest, its origin unclear. I immediately looked around, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from, but it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Rie's frown deepened, and his grip on my wrist tightened. Without a word, he yanked me forward, his demeanor shifting from gentle to forceful. Panic surged through me as he dragged me through the forest, his pace quick and determined. We reached a small restroom near a clearing, and he shoved me inside, locking the door behind us.