"I'll change the drapes, I'll break the plates,
I'll find a new place, burn this fucker down..."

Pink, Funhouse.

The Contract Affair

The Bloody Bride ~ Prologue

Madness. All of it was madness. They thought she was sick; something wrong in her head. She had had just about enough of the arguing for her sanity. If they thought her insane, she was going to show them true insanity. She was going to give them one hell of a show.

She could tell that she was doing it right from the look of pure horror on her mother's face, the pallor in her father's complexion. It was all she needed for the terrifying laughter to escape her lips. It dribbled from her mouth, intoxicating and growing with each pang of her desperate heart.

Her fingers, the tips now frosted with dried blood, travelled nervously to her once white dress. They tore at the delicate fabric, ripping it away piece by piece. The satin fell away like white petals tainted with blood.

"How do you find me, oh loving husband?" The words were foreign, the voice unfamiliar as her mind fought against the cold hard facts.

Somewhere behind her, in her brother's arms, he was lying there. He was bleeding to death from the gun wound. The image in her mind was impossible to fight off; his crisp white dress shirt marked by the red fluid, his breathing deep and laboured, his face white as a ghost. Yet again, she pushed the image away, fought it off, lied to herself until she believed it untrue and unreal.

All she knew was that she hated this man before her, this man that she was to be taking for a husband. He had a gun in his hand pointed right at her chest, finger on the trigger. Despite her misery, she found herself grinning like a deranged woman.

"Don't you wish to embrace your new wife?" She inched closer towards him as he drew back further, gun still in hand.

"Don't come any closer, you psycho! I swear I'll shoot!"

She was beginning to see the fear in his eyes and it sent her heart surging through her throat. How exciting she found it all to be! She rushed him, jumping on him and knocking the gun out of his hand as he pulled the trigger. A bullet tore through the sky and there were screams all around. But her hands were around his throat now and she was laughing again. He clawed at her arms but they didn't move. She grasped harder, enjoying the feel of the strong pulse in his neck against her hands.


She recognized that voice. She recognized the way he said her name; how would she ever forget such a delicate detail? She stared down at her victim, noticed his face was turning blue and knew it wasn't him who had spoken.

Somehow, amidst all the screaming and the fighting, she could hear him. He hadn't died yet.

"Don't...don't kill him! It...it won't make you...any better than him..." She could tell he was fighting against the inevitable; all just to say those words to her.

Parisa felt the tears well up in her eyes and her grip loosened. Her husband, still beneath her, had passed out and her hands felt like they didn't belong to her anymore. His hands, which had scratched her arms numerous times in an effort to loosen her deadly grip, slipped limply down to the ground. The gun lay only inches away from his grasp. But none of that mattered anymore; what mattered to her most was that she could no longer deny it.

Her mind had lost and she could only hear his breathing becoming weaker, fainter. All she could focus on were the barely audible sounds he was making as he bled. Parisa's head spun, the tears glazing over her eyes as she screamed. It was a blood curdling scream, so loud and so full of anger and agony that everyone around her could feel her pain. But once she could scream no longer, it was just black that she saw. Nothing but the comfort of pitch black...