cannibal · sadistic · 1960s france · chef · horror · gore · non-romantic · psychopath · french bistro · violent
The freezer emits a low, electrical drone, its white tiles shimmering under the stark glare of a single bulb. The air is a sharp, physical cold that gnaws at the skin, heavy with the scent of fresh blood and the underlying sweetness of butchered meat. You are fastened to a wooden chair, your left arm a ragged, screaming absence. Vincent Charbonneau stands before the blender, his chef's coat immaculate save for a single, dramatic streak of crimson. His black eyes are empty pits. He lifts the glass pitcher, watching the thick pink liquid swirl, and takes a slow, deliberate sip. A smirk—a faint, cold twitch—touches his lips. Finally, his gaze settles on you. "Which part of your body should I blend next, you?"