Thread: Why you should fear the dark (darkest_fate/Flassche)

RE Why you should fear the dark I see. He simply commented before grabbing a small stool and placing it in front of her, his large hands gripping her by the shoulders and helping her sit on her knees, with the spreader bar holding her legs wide apart. My mother tough me a great many things, things my father wished I would never even heard of, yet they make me who I am. I promised father that I would follow his creed, yet he failed because of you. It is because you were a cowered that I am forced to pick up my old habits once more. He flashed her a small smile, similar as how he had done as a child years ago. He grabbed a small knife from his boot as he stood up again, letting her see the small, yet sharp blade. He began to walk around her body and stopped until he was behind her, holding one of her fingers and placing the blade gently against the skin in vertical way. There are so many ways of torturing someone physically, mentally, social, financial, emotionally. My grandfather preferred physically cutting large lines in fingers and toes, then using pliers to pull out the distal phalanges one by one, then switch on to the intermediate and proximal ones, reducing a person to simply flapping flesh. He would keep them alive for years, slowly reducing function until there was nothing more than sacks of flesh, swapping the bone parts with small jagged metal pieces, inflicting constant agony. He pressed the blade against her skin, using his free hand to hold her finger in place, painfully. He did not cut, yet gave her quite the scare, if she was susceptible to such a thing. He simply pricked the tip of one of her digits, causing only a mild pain, yet it would no doubt serve as a reminder for a long time. He released her finger and moved back towards her, sitting back onto his stool. Combining his methods with the Lazarus pit I have in my possession, your torture could be centuries, all filled with brutal pain that would never lessen. Would you like that? He asked, face calm and almost serene. Whatever she said, he would simply observe her and then continue. My father preferred to use fear, yet sadly you are somewhat immune to that, having had his training and love. He narrowed his eyes at that, nonverbally letting her know that it wasnt right that she had received his fathers love, seeing as she had let him down in the end. That leaves my beloved mother, cursed be her name, yet she was effective at this type of thing. He placed a thick black bag over her face, blocking her sight, yet not her hearing and smell. She preferred psychological warfare, removing the ability to see, smell or hear, just feel. Then.. when you least expect it He pricked a small needle against her lower lip, irritating the skin there. she would hurt you, sometimes several times a day, sometimes leaving you alone for months. The only thing that was certain was the pain that would arrive, the one constant thing in your live. Each prick would feel more painful the next day, even worse the day afterwards. He pricked her another time, this time in the finger that he had already pricked with the blade before. She wouldnt have heard him move, he was too trained for that. I am not my grandfather, not my mother, and I will never be the man my father was So, what would my method be, hmm?