Scarlett

---

The young woman’s heart dripped like oil, and in the unfavourable atmosphere of the cellar her body had begun to rot and wither, leaving the putrid smell of death and decay floating around, creating an ambience of despair and misery. A beauty from the night they called her, their very own Lady of Noir dressed in nought but black with the occasional splash of red. It had been that red which attracted him to her. Their first meeting had left an awfully sour taste in his mouth as this dark lady was known for her sarcasm and cynicism, but still he persisted to peel back her layers and get to know what was underneath. Death greeted him so death he granted. Her shell may have been nice but the juicy inside was rotten and stank, it deserved to be shown to the world and he was always one to watch the world recoil in horror.

“I shall call you Scarlett.” Oh yes, a most fitting name for a most red woman. The darkness of his cellar had hidden many atrocities and been home to many a skeleton but she was by far the most delicate, the most enthralling. The woman was like the northern star outshining everything around her. “You are my Eden.” His trepid hand reached out to caress her cold cheek, leaving a long red smudge from the blood that had set down her face. Like a lamb to the slaughter Scarlett had been led, one would have thought a lady of such nobility and poise could smell a trick a mile off, but no, she had thrown herself at him. Like a child begging her Papa for a new porcelain doll.

A sudden thought caused him to stumble, an absolutely horrid notion now stabbing at his brain and causing him to falter. What if the others didn’t like her? True, his other friends had been with him a long time and were always accepting, but Scarlett was of a different breed and it might provoke jealously. And jealously was infectious. Oh well, they would just have to learn to get along, maybe if he treated them to some new dresses. "Girls and their clothes," he chuckled.

Leaning forwards the man grasped Scarlett’s body and heaved it off its slumped position, dragging the doll's 5′ 2″, lithe frame into a firm yet gentle embrace. Her limbs hung down like those of a marionette and swayed gently as he proceeded to walk into another chamber just off from the main cellar, his precious woman’s new home. Kicking the door open, he was happily greeted by 12 pairs of dead eyes that looked out from pale and ghost-like faces, each with different colours and lengths of hair dancing gracefully down their glazed and sunken cheeks. “Everyone,” he paused for any interruption, his girls could be so chatty sometimes. “I would like you to meet Scarlett.” Warmth and excitement filled his body as the young women’s mouths twisted and in their faces smiles began to break through; why had he even worried?

After placing Scarlett down centre stage between Rose and Lucy he finally had a chance to stand back and adore his collection, now at last complete. Emotions began to boil inside of him like an unattended pot, bubbling and steaming away, threatening to suddenly go. His pale needle-like hands clawed up to his mouth in an attempt to cover the loud laugh that exploded from his lips. The man nearly fell off his feet as the laughter continued to come forth, now a chorus along with the playful giggles from his friends who shared their creator’s happiness.

The moment was short-lived, however, and quickly ruined by the sound of the cellar door being thrown open and lazy footsteps making their way down into its depths. The man paused and narrowed his eyes, annoyed at whatever brazen person had decided to intrude on their little party. Did no one RSVP anymore?

“Master Craven.” a small withered-looking butler stood in the doorway, his face sullen and out-of-place when compared to his dapper attire. “Dinner is ready; shall you be taking your meal in the study or in the dining hall?”

“Hush Spencer.” Craven flicked a hand into the air to silence his aged man servant. “I shall dine when I am hungry.” The man was on the verge of being annoying at the moment, always desiring to be everywhere and hassling him with such pathetic ideals like eating and sleeping. It was one of the reasons Spencer was never invited to the parties.

"Very well sir." Spencer didn't move much, he never had. His foggy eyes looked past Craven and into the empty room he had chosen to stand in. "Might I ask why you're down here?" The cellar was hardly a place to relax, the only thing down there was the wine.

Craven turned slowly and smiled a toothy grin from ear to ear, raising one hand he tapped a thin finger against his nose. "Quiet now, people are sleeping, naughty evil people." He turned and gave Scarlett one final look, her face now beaming at him adoringly. Everything was perfect.