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(tick. tock. tick. tock.)
That was all he ever heard. That incessant ticking, clawing away at the inside of his head, driving him further and further toward the gaping black maw of his madness, it made Kazeielan want to gouge out his very own eardrums. He knew what to make it stop, oh he knew it well, but Kazeielan could hardly bear the thought of time with other people. Their stares made his temper rear like some horrible monster, one he rarely wished to dominate and tame.

(tick. tock. tick. tock.)
He raked a white, spidery hand through his hair in frustration, wanting to cry out and bust a hole through the wall of his penthouse. Shut up, shut up! He rested his elbows on the desk, closed his eyes tightly, a snarl in the back of his throat. Kazeielan knew he was going mad, and it was going to happen soon. Tonight, even? A sudden realization dawned on him. Could killing be considered “being around people”? He may as well give it a try, right?

(tick. tock. tick. tock)
He stood with such force that his oak chair was knocked over. No matter, he could deal with it easily later. He slid on his boots and threw his duster on. It was rather warm, but he didn’t get cold easily even if it went sour. He let the door of his penthouse click shut, and locked it behind him, stepping into a hallway. The walls were a light cream color, pleasantly soft on his sensitive eyes. Every one or two strides- seven or nine feet- the smooth/textured striped pattern was punctuated by a frosted-glass lighting fixture. Kazeielan donned a pair of dark sunglasses that he’d thankfully had on his person when he crossed over here. Cursing his curiosity, he lightly tapped the down button next to the elevator door at the end of the hall.

(tick. tock. tick. tock.)
Out here, that ceaseless noise was quieter, even just outside his apartment. And as the doors swung open, it grew even quieter still. A young service maid stood there, her hands resting on a cart full of cleaning goods. He coked a red eyebrow as he ducked into the elevator, leaning against the south corner to give himself room as to not knock his head on the top of the tiny chamber. She was a pretty girl, he could give her that. Frankly, though, she wasn’t his type. Then again. . . He’d been searching for a kill. . . Kazeielan stilled that thought. Killing a woman was something simply too violent, even for him. He popped a piece of Swedish chocolate into his mouth as he was struggling to control himself.

(tick. . . tock. . . )
But it must have silenced that ticking! It must have. It was bearable now, only loud when her heart was between beats and her lungs between breaths- rarely did he breathe himself and just as rarely did his own heart beat. He would not kill her, but he must find a victim, and soon, before he did something even his twisted mind dare not do. She offered him a smile, and his own in return was characteristically lopsided- he had his scar to thank for that. The girl seemed about to say something when the elevator pinged and he rushed out, barely avoiding cracking his head on the doorframe.

(tick. tock. tick. tock)
Kazeielan filled his lungs with a breath of fresh air as he shoved the glass doors open and strode out onto the street. This was a strange place indeed. It didn’t even smell like home, and everything had a slightly odd color. Idly, his mind wondered if killing would be the same, and he hoped it would. But if it had changed at all, he hoped- for his sake- the better. As he walked-occasionally sliding a piece of chocolate from the pocket of his jacket to his mouth- Kazeielan stopped his eyes on every passing face, waiting for one that seemed to fit the bill for tonight.

(tick. tock. tick. tock.)
There! He had found himself the prefect man. A youth- appearing the same age as Kazeielan did outwardly, hardly over twenty. Perfect! He stopped the maniac smile growing on his face. The trick, now, was finesse.

(tick. tock. tick. tock. stop!)
Silence. In his head, there was complete and utter silence. And never had Kazeielan loved a silence as much as he did approaching the boy. It was hardly the work of a few seconds and a hefty dose of a vampire’s glamour to lure the boy to a hotel. (Posh, of course. Kazeielan refused anything <i>close</i> to squalor.) In the silence, he could think clearly. And in the darkness, he let himself lead the mortal into the back bedroom.


( I wonder if thine angelic eyes doth dream of what I plan for thee. . )
Kazeielan thought, his fingers tented as he sat in a chair at the foot of the bed, dressed to the waist now. The boy was rather pretty, he was thinking now. Such a waste . . . He shook his head. He was a killer, ruthless and aloof. So have things always been, so how they will remain. Even pretty green eyes like those of this child could not draw him from that fact. Sometimes, he loved his brutal nature. Sometimes he loathed it. Such distance it called for! Even more than that, he loathed the fear of love that was in his black little heart.

(Pity I cannot spare thee, O, gentle Dante.)
Kazeielan stood and turned silently to his coat, easing a long, slender case out of a pocket. He leaned against the counter, delicately cradling the dark, polished wooden case in his hands as one a fragile piece of precious glass. As he balanced it on one hand, his spidery fingers flicked the hasp of the lock and gently pushed back the lid. Lying within a claret velvet mold, a scalpel glittered murderously. Temptingly. He trailed the tips of his fingers along the glossy whitewood handle, willing himself not to tease it from its mold and use it. Silence was reigning supreme in his mind, and it was there that he sought peace and clarity, not in the delusions of his twisted heart. “For now, you are spared, child. Make use of it.” The scalpel was returned to his coat and he put yet another piece of chocolate to his tongue. Kazeielan undressed again, slinking back to the bed. He wanted peace for as long as he could have it.