[ His breath catches as Vincent caresses his face. He colors; his lips part. This is it, he's going to die. Is this how his victims felt? He tried to work as quickly as possible, so that their lives were over almost as soon as they realized what was happening to them. He made a point of knifing them in the back, in the dark, so he didn't have to see their faces. But sometimes they would turn, in those last moments and look at him.
How fitting, that this is the last thing he thinks of, before he himself... ]
Ugh!
[ His midsection explodes with pain and the ground comes up to meet him. He's on his knees. He's been stabbed. In agony, he presses his hands to his stomach, feeling his own life's blood pouring out, spilling over his fingers and staining the —
...
He draws his hands away. They're clean. He looks up, staring at Vincent's face, silhouetted against the sky. ]
W-why?
[ It's mouthed but not spoken; the wind is knocked out of him. ]
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How fitting, that this is the last thing he thinks of, before he himself... ]
Ugh!
[ His midsection explodes with pain and the ground comes up to meet him. He's on his knees. He's been stabbed. In agony, he presses his hands to his stomach, feeling his own life's blood pouring out, spilling over his fingers and staining the —
...
He draws his hands away. They're clean. He looks up, staring at Vincent's face, silhouetted against the sky. ]
W-why?
[ It's mouthed but not spoken; the wind is knocked out of him. ]