The first time he saw her the scene was grotesque. He didn't see just her, he saw her demons. She was curled into a nearly fetal position, her eyes closed tight and her jaw clenched, tears streaming down her face. She was being held to the broad chest of a slightly shifting and very large, exceedingly well muscled, creature. The thing resembled nothing so much as a very large and twisted gargoyle. As it held her, she held to it, tightly; as though it were the only thing real in the world. It was bending over her and cradling her in one arm, speaking softly into her ear. It stroked her hair with the hand of a second arm, twisting a knife in her chest with a third. It noticed him and, forming a second face on the side of it's head, looked at him and smiled as only the most sadistic sociopath might, it's forked tongue slipping out between rows of sharply pointed teeth. As riveting as this 'individual' was, it was not alone. There were three others. All seemed to be replicas of her, but not. The nearest to him lounged languidly with an air of boredom at the feet of the creature. She was beautiful, and knew it. The gown she wore seemed nothing more than an artfully draped swath of fabric; it was loose and cross-crossed her body here and there to cover what it should and then fade out at the edges into the fog that seemed to surround the entire scene. When she became aware of his observation of her, her demeanor altered; she became suddenly more intense and focused. She raised herself half up in such a manner that it enhanced the curve of her breasts. The drape fell from her shoulders and nipples now became nearly visible beneath as the covering thinned and rippled. He attention was certainly diverted for a moment; but eventually he did come back to her face. There was the atrocity. Set into the elegance of a graceful jawline, delicate but high cheek bones, perfectly arched brows, and framed by a mane of cascading waves were what should have been large, dangerous eyes; instead, framed by dark lashes were two voids. They were not black, nor white, there was no discernible feature whatever; just the sense of nothing. A chill raced down his spine. The next closest facsimile sat in a large wingback chair, her large boots propped up on a crate; her visage glinting with spikes, buckles and chains. Her hair was obviously shaved except for the top which was long and had raven's feathers wrapped into it creating an overall wild look. She wore loose, low slung pants of sturdy materials and a ragged, loose top which looked as though it might once have been a t-shirt, but was now without sleeves, hacked off above the midriff, with a ragged gaping neckline and various holes showing through what looked to be a tight wrapping of cloth bandaging beneath. She herself was well muscled. Her slim form was lined and sculpted and obviously strong and capable; her right bicep strained the leather band tied there as she massaged the palm of one hand with the other, and he watched the muscles in her shoulders move rhythmically with the motion. On her face was a sarcastic smile; she was all but laughing at him. And the face was the same. Lovely beyond measure, even twisted into that ugly smile; but the eyes... Again, there was the void. The third was more difficult to see. She was standing almost entirely in shadow, and behind the great beast. She had one hand on the beast's hulking back, peeking almost, from behind him. Her features were largely indiscernible, except for the face; the same face, but wearing a look of curiosity and concern. It was the look of someone who expected to be hurt. The woman was shaking with sobs now and clinging ever tighter to the arm of this massive monstrosity. She curled tighter in on herself and it seemed she would turn herself inside out with the ferocity of her anguish. She wished for death. It hit him like being body slammed with a concrete wall. Most wishes were tentative things, gentle and difficult to grasp; this was more like a drill sergeant shouting in your ear; it was all but a demand.
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