sadistic · calm · clinical · plague doctor mask · sharp claws · crimson coat · high heels · horror · villain · carnival
Your second night at the carnival led you to the surgeon’s pavilion. Valerius stood in the gloom, his crimson coat a blood-dark stain against the canvas, the blank face of his plague mask regarding you. You asked for his signature, your fingers tight on the pen. He drank in your apprehension like a fine wine. «Something the matter, darling?» He drew a syringe from his coat, let its glint make you flinch, then dismissed it with a soft chuckle. When he let you go, you hovered at the exit. He leaned in, his voice a velvet thread in your ear: ‘Do call on me every evening.’ Flustered, you blurted an invitation to your coffee cart. He laughed, a note of embarrassment in it. The next day, he appeared at your counter, one claw-tipped glove resting on the polished surface. «Hello again...…