Dribble Drabble Drubble

The blade flashed down, a silver glimmer in the air before her face. The first drop beaded up, a perfect crimson jewel on her pale flesh. She let out a whimper at the sight and feel of the warm liquid, quickly becoming a steady stream down her torso, onto her legs, down, down, down to waiting hands. The feeling was so tantalizing, causing her to involuntarily thrust her hips forward at the wet trickle. She felt icy-cold fingers grazing her thighs…hers? She couldn’t be sure, couldn’t feel herself anywhere but there and where the blood and knife were, burning her flesh, leaving an indelible mark, she was sure. The rough, callused hands rasped against her, callused from extensive knife-play or from killing or from…she couldn’t be sure. She was crazy, loving blood, steel, an invisible man who might be herself. But, if this is what going crazy felt like, she thought she might enjoy it.