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His dearest. Laying beautifully opened. Their ribs showing, stomach as concave as a diagram of a red blood cell.
He laid on top of them, kissing their neck and face. Doughael responded by whimpering.
Oh, how Pure Vanilla loved his follower. He never realized how much he liked having control over people. Over something other than his body.
He grabbed the blade he always kept for nights like these. Nights where his need for control got too out of hand and when his thoughts were awfully loud.
One slash. Two slashes. Crying in pain and pleasure. It was not enough for both of them.
Even when Pure Vanilla swallowed their blood, their oh deliriant and enticing blood it never stopped him.
Three slashes. Four slashes. Their saintly hands wrapping around his bicep—for in pain, or in relief—He will never know.
The Candelabra hanging above the bed. The bed covered in their indulgent sin. The saint below them panting in anguish and gratification of the slashes on their ribs. The very slashes caused by the man they used to believe was a perfect angel.
Five slashes, six slashes. Pure Vanilla made eye contact with Doughael, their face scrunched up in pure Bliss and despair. The scent of iron and the weight of judgement too heavy to allow Pure Vanilla to rest.
Seven, eight, nine, ten. Pure Vanilla only stopped at 111 slashes. How ironic, an angel commiting sin yet only stopping at what mortals believed to be an angelic number. How ridiculous.
The weary flesh of the saint below him. The slashes looked to be deep. Barely stopping at the dermis to the little fat they had.
He finally snapped back to reality when he looked at the slashes he caused. A healer harming people? An ancient lusting over such harm and wrongs? What would the people say? What would the other ancients say?
The angel started crying. The saint fulfilled to be finally be gazed upon. Even in such light.
The exhausted saint risen mechanically, ignoring the blood pouring out their wounds.
They obtained his tears in their hands, pooling in their palm.
The saint drank the angel's tears. Stared at the face soaked in guilt and fear and misery. All while drowning in their own blood.