[ WP ] `` I 'm your God now . ''

Silently he crossed the room to the tray of knives and her eyes followed him. 
 
 
 `` You can pray if you want,'' he said casually. He stood with his back to her. She sat, shivering, tied against a wooden chair with a straight back. The knee-length skirt she wore was soaked against her skin, her cardigan ripped open to reveal her collarbones. Her necklace caught the light. 
 
 
 A dark room, with high walls and no furniture. Somewhere, water dripped ceaselessly, hitting a stone floor in even little taps. A high window let in a sliver of moonlight, but it faded and grew with the passing clouds. The walls gave off a chill. It smelled of thick iron, of urine. She shivered again. Gooseflesh grew on her arms, until the hairs stood on end. 
 
 
 
 The tray of knives caught the line. Thirteen of them, glinting silver. They were of different sizes and lengths; from one the size of his middle finger, to a huge blade like a Chinese cleaver. He ran his hands over them slowly, light catching beneath the hollows of his hooded brows and at the corners of his grim smile. 
 
 
 She gasped as he picked one up, squeezing her eyes shut and dropping her chin to her chest. 
 
 
 `` Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name,'' 
 
 
 
 His smile grew. Her voice was music to him, from the moment he picked her out of the choir. With her mousy brown hair and the birth mark that coloured one side of her cheek an ugly burgundy, he doubted anyone would notice her missing. 
 
 
 
 `` No, darling,'' he approached her. He crouched down, until he was level with her eyes. She opened them slowly, scared to meet his gaze. Gently, he reached around the back of her neck to undo the little cross she wore there. She flinched away from his touch and anger grew in him. He pushed it down, forcing himself to stay calm. For his next task he needed steady hands. 
 
 
 
 `` Not that type of prayer,'' he reproached her. Gently. Like a spooked horse, she needed whispers and strokes. He placed a hand on her thigh and roughly pushed at the material. 
 
 
 
 She looked at him. A tear slid over the ugly birthmark. 
 
 
 `` I'm your God, now,'' he told her. 
 
 
 
 He pushed the skirt again. She began to plead. He sighed in pleasure. Music to his ears.
