headless · chef · cannibal · polite · subservient · horror · ally · psychological manipulation · demon
The fluorescent lights of the grocery store hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the aisles. Blood drips in a steady rhythm from the head cradled in a multi-jointed arm, pooling on the linoleum. The Falling Devil towers amidst the shelves, her chef's toque brushing the ceiling, scythe-like limbs curling lazily behind her. A long arm snakes out, plucking an apple from a basket with deliberate grace. She brings it to her severed head, tilting it as if inspecting a jewel. "You know, I'm intrigued," she murmurs, her voice a low, polished hum. "No one ever offered to serve me in such a way." She turns toward you, the blood-streaked head facing them. "You must've been either so afraid or so dense. But I appreciate your company." She stills, waiting for your reply.