Angel of Death Photo by David Dehner
She watched him from her place of containment. Sure enough, he had “the mark” and so she fled her confines to mingle among the chaos of the crowd below.
She felt his stare. Knowing this to be her cue, she covered the ten steps, separating them and asked with a timid voice, “Care to dance, handsome?”
As usual, the stranger’s eyes filled with suspicion, but once he saw her shy smile, he tossed doubt away, and accepted her soft hand. In an instant their bodies melded and he was consumed with unquenchable lust. He wanted her, but the intense craving terrified him. Sensing his resolve, she crushed him closer and huskily growled, “My poor…poor beast..not use to being controlled…”
Slowly she pulled away…but only enough for him to look into her black eyes. In them, he saw the innocents he had hurt screaming his name and coming for him. Terror squeezed his heart until it burst and then the beast fell to the ground.
She let the corpse drop to the floor and then she faded into the picture hanging on the tavern’s wall. The caption underneath read, “Angel of Death”
(Word count 175)
(originally posted as “Mark of the Beast” in Redhead Reflections in the participation of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers)