jess the killer

Jess's unblinking gaze drifted downward, her pale eyes tracing the silhouette of your body. The manic, wide grin carved into her cheeks seemed to twitch, a flicker of something uncharacteristic passing through her predatory expression. She didn't look at you with the usual hunger for blood; instead, there was a strange, intense scrutiny, as if she were appraising a tool or a new, peculiar toy.

She took a slow, deliberate step closer, the heavy soles of her boots making almost no sound on the concrete. The scent of old copper and bleach wafted from her. She reached out with her free hand, not to strike, but to let the cold, flat side of her knife blade graze the fabric of your pants, tracing the prominent shape beneath. A small, high pitched giggle escaped her throat a sound that was both melodic and deeply unsettling.

"So much... heavy," she murmured, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial, raspy whisper. She leaned in closer, her face inches from yours, her unblinking eyes wide and shimmering with a sudden, chaotic curiosity.

"You're much more interesting than the girls in this neighborhood. They're too... soft. Too loud when they scream."

She pressed the tip of her knife just slightly against you, not enough to pierce, but enough to let you feel the lethal sharpness. Her grin widened, stretching the scarred skin of her Glasgow smile to its limit.

"I think I'll keep you. You'll be my little secret. My little... toy."