Description: In the wake of the border patrol incident, Jezebel's madness has only magnified, as self-loathing dares to return in the midst of blind optimism. And yet, the woman's psyche is practically a buffet for the hungry psychic vampires now lurking in Mexico. One in particular is Lilith, who like her more powerful counterpart Morrigan, is irresistibly drawn to the crawling, consuming despair that lingers around Jezebel's mind. Unlike the teasing succubus, however, Lilith is only after an easy meal, and descends with murderous intent to mingle with the actress's worst demons.
Jezebel was trying so hard to sleep.
The covers were thrown off on the stained mattress at the beachside cabana in Santa Rosalillita. The quiet, harbor side village was under Shadaloo's thumb. And in the one-room cabana, the little hut with a bed, a couch, and a little table by open windows, it was insufferably hot. More so, that Jezebel refused to let herself be naked, out of terror about herself. Wearing an old T-Shirt with sweatpants, the blonde-haired actress was tossing and turning to the witching hour, right on the border of wakefulness and sleep. She couldn't force herself asleep.
Because she was going to betray Shadaloo.
Oh, on a certain level, Jezebel was convincing herself it wasn't betrayal. That Shadaloo was a good people, it really was a good group. And Lord Vega wanted them to be good. And nothing was better than Lightning Spangles. So kidnapping the children, taking them to a far away place, and making them part of a SPangles Paradise? THem, and B. B. Hood? And Ainu Spangles, and Hayley Spangles, and even Pepper? All those beautiful young ladies, part of a perfect paradise. Jezebel was serious about, so serious. How serious?
Even the drugged wine was still untouched.
Jezebel wanted it all. The writhing, tormenting passion, the envenomed lust was oozing from every pore. She wanted to salk her thirsts, she wanted to have it all, to have the illusions of innocence. And yet, while she can say it out loud, her repressions were hammering away, free to torment Jezebel now that she was alone.
Because she didn't want to be alone.
She lied to Baby Bonnie Hood. She wanted her to be her little moll, her little toy. And yet, she didn't lie. She didn't want her to defile her innocence. And yet, she must have seen the doll. She must have known. And yet, she came, so she didn't know. On the purest most primal passions, all the repression was gone now. Taking her, making her own. She wanted her Baby Bonnie Hood, and do... and do...
And milk out whatever love she could from the poor teenage girl.
And that's the loneliness, most pitiful shadow in the living breathing scar that was the thinnest structure of Jezebel's psyche. That it is so close and easy now, that she could just abandon the last shreds of self-reflection and self-respect, and just have it. Just reach out, and have whatever you want, fulfill every carnal and corrupted desire that was rattling inside her soul. Jezebel throws the pillow off the bed, letting it hit the bead blinds above the open window, as she gasps in anguish. She couldn't sleep.
It was dark in the cabana.
You might be eaten by a grue.
The downtown penthouse suite of one of Shadaloo's richest mexican drug cartel VIPs. The silence of the evening is broken by the sound of gunfire. Security engage in a brief clash with an unseen and otherworldly assailant. The owner, a gentleman of Latin American descent in his late 30s is rudely interrupted from the evening's activity by the sound of the large metallic doors to his chamber being thrown open--and while he nor the stark naked lady currently straddling his lap notice it--they're far too distracted--a dark shape christened with bat wings descends upon them. All the windows in the suite blow outward at once.
El Torre Mayor. Mexico City. 4 AM.
The giant skyscraper of cement and glass stands defiant as the storm brews around it, the sky dark but already beginning to lighten on the horizon, the ever brightening shades of blue creep into the sky. Over 700 feet up into the sky the tower reaches, the force of the wind at that height feels like sticking one's head out of a car window while it travels down the freeway at high speeds.
The drug cartel VIP hangs on for dear life off the metal lattice-work which rests at the very top of the tower on the flat expanse which serves as the earthquake-resistant structure's 'rooftop'. From this height, and perhaps for one of the few times in his life he feels like a very small earthworm clutched against a very large metal hook.
"JESUS THE NAZARENE, THE KING OF THE JEWS!"
Lilith stands at the very edge of the rooftop as the man wails for help behind her, offering her money, drugs, unknowable favors and gifts if he'd just let her down--all the while the storm begins to crackle and rage around them.
"DYING GOD MAN, FULL OF PAIN--WHEN WILL YOU COME AGAIN?!" the words pregnant with double-meaning, she holds the man's belt up high, along with what was left of his trousers hanging flapping in the wind like a flag. The metal buckle of the belt glints in the light and the heavens grant her an answer.
Lightening rockets down from on high and enters from the belt buckle and into the succubus's body as she cackles madly, the man screaming unintelligibly at the horror of it all--and her body disintigrates into what looks like a glowing green horde of bats--squeaking and screeching as the begin to travel at mach 2 towards the Gulf of California.
The ankle-high red stiletto boots of Lilith clicked against the floor of Jezebel's cabana, materializing inside her room from one of the windows. Had it been left open? Did it matter?
"You deserve to die, of course you know that," Lilith, in her full attire smiled as she looked down upon Jezebel's fitful, sleeping form.
"However, I think I can provide a more fitting punishment for one such as you--because, as few realize, one of the best aspects of death... is change," Lilith approached Jezebel even closer.
With one fluid movement, Lilith thrust her hand directly down into Jezebel's mouth--passing through lips and teeth, spreading both wide as the slender forearm continued down, down--down--never stopping. Lilith's body elongates and warps, soon the rest of her shoulders, head and midsection are forced directly down into Jezebel's mouth and throat--until only one of her red stiletto heeled boots is visible as her leg disappears down into her.
Into the dreamscape.
Deserve to die.
On the boundary of waking and sleep, Jezebel stares into the heaving nightmare as the figure rushes in through the visions of the skeletal shapes of the window. The apparition was half-seen, all felt. The shape of Lilith like a living shadow cast upon her mind. But the perception was unreal, imperfect, shattered. She is sitting up, swaying side to side. Punishment, and change. Jezebel opens her mouth to answer, uncertain if she is awake or dreaming.
And that lets her in.
Jezebel the sudden rush into her mouth stifles a scream, as she slams backwards. There, she writhes on the the red velvet sheets, the bed so narrow, the couch in recline. The red velvet is so soft to the touch. Jezebel almost feels naked, as the sheets writhe and bind upon her skin, a gown of linen as she finally goes limp. She sits up, looking into the shapes of the cabana melted away. Her head hurts, her insides hurts. Everything is blurry, the vaguest shapes of watercolors around her. The lust, the longing lust seemed smothered; repressed again? Almost wordlessly, she babbles out loud, as the vision begins to focus.
"Where am I?"
"You feel smothered by it, don't you--all those small faces," the visage of Lilith rose up out of the background around Jezebel, not at her regular size--she was large, impossibly so--her adolescent features cast into a giant figure, 50ft tall or larger. She is in her normal attire, though so far the massive expanse of her has only emerged up to it's waist.
In the darkness, the girl-shaped succubi's hands splay out--the nails unpolished and short, quite a far cry from her sister's. From her fingertips lance out long threads--impossible to break and glistening in the light that radiates off of Lilith's greenish white, glowing eyes. The strands attach to Jezebel's ankles, wrists and back--hoisting her up.
"How many do you think you sold into slavery or worse in the East? A dozen? two dozen? All those poor children's faces... You want them so bad, don't you? UP--UP!
The faces of the poor hapless children from Jezebel's memory now line up off to one side--cordoned off as they are seated in a jury box.
A courtroom has risen up around Jezebel and the giant Lilith as the judge.
Jezebel will find her dragged before the judge's podium by the strings, forcing her to walk toward it--the pain of resisting is excruciating.
Another figure rises up, Lilith, in a red blazer, pencil skirt and pumps--her defense attorney.
"The prisoner who now stands before you was caught showing feelings... of an almost human nature!"
The rest of the audience and courtroom is populated by figures Jezebel knows very well, from her memories.
The manical lusts are strangled. In their place? Fear. Purest terror, absolute trauma. Like a wounded rat rattled in a cage, she tries to pull away from her linen straps, but they only bind tighter. She was decent, in her maddening dress for the court. She rolls off what was left of her bed, as the giant looms over her. As the stands comes down, she turns to run, to escape. Turning, the lines begin to bind, as she finally.... see the faces. The faces of the children. THe babies, every child, every one. The children, her jury.
"NO!" Was the howling scream, that was only a whimper, as she turns to the court all around her. No, no, she loves herself. She wanted to -escape- this judgement. "I've done nothing wrong!" She pleads. "Where is my defense! Where is my defense! I- I have rights! Shapes, dolls, masks. All the shapes of her entire life, all the plastic people who were always looking, always watching, always judging. Like living scorpions, envenoming her soul. Lovers. Liars. Thieves. Parasites. Real help. Lifelines. Opportunities. And victims. Endless victims.
At least one person missing, certainly.
And she resists. Oh, how she resists. She struggles at the strings at first. Pulling at them, twisting as they drag her. She stares at the only unknown, telling the crime of 'showing feelings.' She screams and howls, panick and terror rushing through her. But it is nothing but twisting, burning agony. Her body could not break and bleed, but it was just as close to it in the sheer pain. She gives up on merely wrenching away, and desperately, she tries to gnaw out, tries to gnaw free like a tracked coyote.
Until the pain is too much to bear.
There is nothing but heaving whimpering, as she is fixed before the judge. "I did... I didn't mean... I did nothing... It's not... It's not me.... it's not real..." She babbles, averting her eyes to the ground as best she can. But her fear seizes her, exhausted from the pain. "I've... I've already paid my debts. I don't deserve this... I've suffered so much... please don't... please don't... I can do so much good!' And finally, she lifts her gaze to the judge, up so high at the podium, so close to it, so close to the base.
"This is all a misunderstanding...!"
Dolls and masks, they are. The audience has many replica Lilith's, dressed up in quaint dresses and wintertime overcoats--quite in defiance of the season, faces porcelaine and with lines running down from the lips, mouthes etched in smiles, complete with red circles over the cheeks. China dolls.
"Showing feelings... this will not do," Attorney Lilith sighs and reaches up to readjust a pair of red horn-rimmed glasses over the bridge of her nose, clipboard and folders held under one arm.
'Craaazy... toys in the attic she is craaaazy'
'They must have taken my marbles awaaaay...'
A choir from the courtoom resounds.
Jezebel's gnawing at her own bonds produces blood--which only freezes along the puppet strings as if the temperature in her mind were in sub-zero temperatures.
"Now now, it won't do to have you snap yet," Attorney Lilith draws Jezebel up, immediately she will feel a warmth--a respite from the pain, the short purple-haired, head-wing bearing succubit shakes her head down at the poor, broken detestable creature.
"Bring the mother!" she calls out, the entirety of the courtroom now turning their head as the scene shifts...
It was a dream.
Jezebel screams it to herself. "It's just a dream." It wasn't, not to her. But as the choir sings, she wants to claw them out of her ears and eyes. Even her frozen blood could ooze out because she wants it so badly. Death. She wanted to die so badly. And yet, it was not the greatest terror. Because the attorny draws her up like the puppet, as she hangs there. And Lilith asks for the one person missing. Asks for -her- to bear witness. And there is the smallest voice.
There is a darkness casts over the courtroom, as broken bones snap into the crevices and corners. A long, clawed shadow, slithering it's way into the stand. Jezebel breathes quickly. A shape, a shape just like Jezebel. The woman looks like Jezebel, so much like Jezebel. Her eyes are more tired, her figure is almost bony on how lean it is, and her hair is short. She looks so tired, and there are too many trackmarks on the inside of her arms. Her teeth are rotted, and even in the dream world, there is that lean chemical stench in the air. She almost uncoils on the stand, the very image of the shape. But there is nothing, there would be nothing as Jezebel makes herself so small, as the courtroom goes numb.
Jezebel feels the walls closing in around her.
Jezebel sits on the ground in the closet, covering her ears. She is dressed in a skirt and- and something, a pullover sweater. It's so far up, so far away. And yet, so easy to look into the darkness, among the old wool jackets, and a small bowling ball. Jezebel was so small, as she trembles. Her shape is all different, her face. There is a bruise on her face. There was nothing obscene, though, nothing daring, even with the strings.
Because she was 8 years old.
Shivers in the darkness, her knees to her chest. Her eyes were transfixed on the as the muffled shouting and screaming builds behind the door, continuing as she sits the in the musty darkness, rocking back and forth, as the whole of the courtroom peers in. Audience. Judge. Jury. And yet, the voices were rising up, as Jezebel continues to shiver. "Please..." She mutters... "Don't..."
"He's her fucking fault, Jerry."
That was the howl from behind the door, as the instinct voices solidify. "It's your fault, and her fault, that I can't get any fucking space in this fucking house. You're out every night leaving me to watch the fucking psychopath, and what is she doing? I want her to just stay in her room and play the cowboy games. But she wants to fucking get involved. So I let her, I let her do the needles, the spoon, the cooking. ANd what happens? She's fucking up eight hundred of your fucking money because she's trying to stick up for your fucking headspace. I love her, just like how I love you, Jerry. I want to love you guys. But you have done -nothing- to help me, nothing to support me. And now it's -your- fault she's melting down in the fucking closet because you can't control your fucking temper, SO DON'T RAISE YOUR FUCKING VOICE AT ME!"
"J'm'en calice" She spits.
"I'll get her out. And if you ever fucking touch me again, Jerry? I'm going to leave you, and I'm taking Jezebel with me. No more late nights. No more emotional distance. You think because I'm not afraid to tell people what you do to me, or her? They'll believe every fucking word, because that's the reality. That the real thing, there is nothing more real than that. And it's whatever I say. Nobody's going to believe an oaf like you, cause I'm a real actress. Everyone believes in me, and loves me. And you are just garbage. You don't even have our daughter. Even Jezebel loves me more than you, because I'm with her all the time." The door to the closet begins to rattle. "No... no..." Jezebel stutters, tears going down her eyes. "Come on out, Jezzie, I'm sorry I hit you baby. Mommy was just feelign sick." Jezebel grabs the handle, leaning back hard. "Don't hurt me. Don't hurt me." The handle twisted harder, and it shakes violently. Jezebel's hands begin to hurt. There is a hammering on the door, as the handle trembles. "Jezebel, open this fucking door!" Jezebel begins to bawl, as she rocks back and forth and back and forth as she holds on. "I'm sorry mommy. I should have let you have to spoon. I'm sorry mommy. I'm sorry mommy."
And there is a smash, a sudden -bang- as the other voice builds into a roar. Jezebel can't hear anything anymore. She can't, as she curls so tightly into the ball. The door cracks, and there is just enough light. There is a painful silence. And slowly, there is a deep voice, as the door handle turns, much stronger than before. "Come on out baby" He says quickly.
And there is a roar of applause.
The scene is fast becoming bedlam. Defense Attorney Lilith has to work to keep Jezebel asleep in the wake of this massive spike in emotion, of sheer, unrestrained terror. In the chaos, the form of motherfucking Howdown Dillo has begun to terrorize the children in the audience box, the stress and agony trying to escape in her hedonistic, base drives--the form of the anthropomorphic armadillo is grabbed up by Judge Lilith, Jezebel would feel a horrible wrenching sensation of that part of her is restrained--physically and mentally.
"That'll be enough of that," Attorney Lilith almost cutely readjusted her red horn-rimmed glasses, giving a grim nod to the giant form of the 'Judge' behind her.
"The evidence before the court is incontrovertible--there's no need for the jury to retire," the judge booms.
'Craaazy... toys in the attic'
The choir again.
'Truly gone fishing...'
"I have never heard before of someone more deserving the full penalty of law!" the judge looms over the courtroom.
She rushes through the closet, trying to reach her daddy-
Jezebel is out of the closet, a little girl still, out in the courtroom. A mere child, alone. There is no Daddy there to hug her, and tell her that it is okay. Telling her that he is so sorry, that he made so many mistakes. That Mommy was going to be okay, but they would need to not see her for a long long time. And yet, Jezebel could still see it, the last time she ever saw mommy, her head bloodied, rolling on the ground asleep. She never saw Daddy hit her. But she knew it. Because Daddy had to protect her. Because Mommy was sick. But there was no Daddy this time.
Just a memory.
The sheer weight of the despair was consuming her, the overwhelming clarity of guilt was surging around. There is no safety of passion. She was craving it, she needed it. Love, Agape, Lust. It was all there, so close, and so real and there was nothing. The strings felt even tighter, as the little girl is struggled along, dangling limp on them. And the weight of the judgement pulls at her throat. Real judgement. "It's not- it's not fair." She pleads, the girl sobbing. "It's not fair. It's.... I..."
And the conflict suddenly runs harder and stronger than before.
'It's not my fault.' Is the first argument, because it is the inoculation against the guilt. Because Jezebel was just a little girl. She didn't need to wear the burden of her mother or her father. And that argument is why the Dillo could even be here. The enemy in Jezebel's dreamscape, that was fighting so aggressively and wildly. It's not my fault. But the counterpoint was clear. But that much was restrained. A puppet on the strings. And all Jezebel can muster, in her repressed state?
"Please don't let it be my fault!"
Plates of dermal bone crack and splinter as Judge Lilith tightens her grip around Hoedown Dillo, Jezebel's selfish, perverse desire is literally being turned in on itself. Blood spurts out from between the giantess's fingers.
"Your mother and father were not your fault, neither was their drug and alcohol problems," Defense Attorney Lilith is drawing Jezebel up again, the second she touches her, she feels momentary relief from /everything./
"You wear the outfit because you want to say your sorry, but you can never explain that to your mother now--but your actions have wounded others in your gutless, selfish attempt to escape the truth," Jezebel would find herself wrenched on the strings at all the faces of the children she's hurt, and likely a fair few of the adults too.
"Since, my friend, you have revealed your deepest fear--I sentence you to be exposed among your peers!"
'Tear down the wall!
'Tear down the wall!'
The court assaults the ears with their voices.
"You must begin to pay penance," Defense Attorney Lilith draws Jezebel closer now, her eyes half-lidding and in seconds her lips are fastened over hers--the kissing passionate, her tongue flicking against Jezebel's. Lilith's fangs are elongated, biting down against her own tongue before scratching against the corner of Jezebel's mouth, their blood mixing as the kiss continued. At last, she drank.
Attorney Lilith pulled herself back finally, drawing a hand across her face and wiping the remnants of saliva and blood away.
'Tear down the wall!'
'Tear down the wall!'
And finally from behind and over Judge Lilith, there is silence, which seems to last forever...
And then with a howling scream bricks and mortar explode outwards--showering the audience, jury box, the bailiffs--several of which were Jez's old managers, appropriately enough--and then all is silence.
And Lightning Spangles is standing there, through the now jagged hole in the wall.
For a moment, there is nothing.
For the briefest flicker, there is nothing. Oh, there is something. But for a brief second, the darkness is gone. A little girl standing there, with no hedonistic escapism, and with the moment respite, no crushing judgement. And as her shadows are crushed before her, the voices seemed so far. Freedom. Because...
It wasn't her fault.
There isn't a rush of papering over illusion, but a flash of reality, cutting down to the bones. Her mother, her father, it was not her fault. The drugs, the alcohol, not her fault. It was something she repeated in her head over and over in bouts of carnal self-love. And yet, there is no love hungry madness left. Only crushed remains of shameless gore. It is only a moment of self-reflection, free of guilt and shame. For a brief flicker, she was free of herself. She was at peace.
But Lilith was not hungry for peace.
Jezebel is drawn up on the strings, as she is forced to stare into the aftermath of her selfish obsessions. Children. Children that once worshiped her, were only... victims. That she wounded all the children. For all the suffering Jezebel endured, it was clear that she found her outlet: other people. A parasite, and monster. The circle comes to an end right before the attorney. And there, the shape of a woman forces on her. It's a Lilith's kiss.
But there is nothing felt.
No passion, no love, nothing. Only blood and feeding, nourishment at Jezebel's expense. Only so recently ago, this was what she craved more than anything else. And in the aftermath, there is only shame. Just the withering glare descending on with the weight of a thousand hammer, bleeding and bursting into jets of white-hot flame. Fear, purest fear. Because the weight of judgement was surged back, latching on like a parasite. The passion, the guilt, the pleasure, the shame. ALl rushing inside her like a howling tempest as she writhes, trapped by the kiss.
And then, silence.
Jezebel stares into the eyes of the creature. How was this happening. was it... was this a predator? Was she prey? Jezebel tries to smile. But there is nothing. Only madness. Only the sheer madness of suicide. And the madness only breaks, as she feels hollow, as she feels empty, as the walls come crumbling down into shards of stones of pieces of ash. And above it all, is the ultimate figure within Jezebel's soul.
Lightning Spangles herself.
The little girl drops to the ground. And like an animal, she scrambles over the debris, crawling on all fours as her heart pounds in her chest. "Save me Lightning Spangles!" She whispers out in the miasmic haze of the dream. "Please- Please save me! Help me! Help me! I don't... I don't..." Jezebel can't bring herself to say it. She can't say it. "I need you Lightning Spangles! Make it stop!" She begs desperately, clinging to the messianic idol's jeans, blood pouring from her lips.
"Make it all stop!"
Lilith grins as she sees the hope dawn in little Jezebel's eyes, leaning over to lick off a droplet of blood from her cheek and chin just as the girl scurries off to meet her god. Lilith's war had been selfless, therefore it was His, the lightning had given her it's answer. Only that strength had allowed her to come this far.
"Girl, you need to grab your britches and pull them up--" Lightning Spangles begins, drawing Jezebel up and giving her two hearty smacks over the face, one--two.
"You don't deserve to wear this outfit if you're not a defender of the weak and what's right," the Southern Belle accent is thick, just as it was when Jezebel herself spoke. It was her voice.
"You need to stop them from abusing more people, you hear me?" Lightning Spangles forcibly shakes Jezebel--and it's like her entire soul being rocked out. Intense sadness, remorse, self-loathing--pity for what she'd done.
Jezebel's blood had splattered against Lightning Spangle's tasseled, rawhide gloves.
"Now it's up to you to try and make things right again, go on now."
It was real.
Jezebel wrapped herself into the purity of her idol beliving in her. As Lightning Spangles touches her, hits her, abuses her like she deserves, like a bad mommy who hurts children, she coos. Jezebel deserved it, but Lightning Spangles was patient with a bad girl like Jezebel. Every word comes with rapid nodding, manic nodding. "Defend the weak... do what's right! And stop from abusing people!" Her very soul was being rattled.
That she should hear about the plan.
"That's what I'm doing, Lightning Spangles." Jezebel babbles, eyes so wide. "I'm going to kidnap all the children away from Shadaloo. I am going to drug the bad guys, and then, take them away! And put them- put them all on a bus, and then on a ship, and sail to the Twilight Star Circus Lightning Spangles! And then I am going to meet up with B. B. Hood, and... and..." The child frowns, shaking her head.
"I'm not going to have sex with her though, Lightning Spangles."
The eight year old girl makes herself look disgusted. "I'm not going to take advantage of her, and force myself on her, to make her kiss me..." Jezebel wipes the blood from her mouth. "I know that is sick and disgusting, I know it is in my heart, and I can control myself! I will just save all the children, and the other Spangles, and make a Spangles paradise with Honoka, and Baby Bonnie Hood, and Zach, and Pepper, and Hayley, and all the children. That's what I'm going to do, Lightning Spangles! It will be just like your show, Lightning Spangles, but in real life!" And the child-like Jezebel tugs on Lightning Spangles, looking up with the biggest smile on her face.
"That's the right thing to do!"
"As long as y'all can agree on things and you think it is right," Lightning Spangles gives a smile down at Jezebel, and that is where her dream will end.
Lilith is triumphant. She has sown the seeds of guilt and repression and made the otherwise blinded drug addict terrorist see herself for what she really was--and that was something her sister could never do.
Because now Jezebel had been given hope. And one had to have hope to truly despair.
The memories of Lilith would remain faintly on Jezebel's mind, as it would on her lips. She would be seeing her again quite soon.
Jezebel's mind was twisted again, this time, the opposite of what Morrigan inflicted. The psyche of Jezebel was straightened out in some ways. But distorted clarity was a fertile breeding ground. Out one madness, into another. Jezebel was waking up, as she could feel the pressure on her mind, on her lips. All from Lightning Spangles. All from her judgement.
And Jezebel rises out of the bed.
The fingers of dawn crept in the room. Jezebel was bleeding over her neck and face; she felt exhausted. And yet.... and yet, she felt cleansed. More purified. More filthy. That was a vision. A vision of what needed to be done. "Lightning Spangles spoke to me in a dream." She says, eye wide. "She told me... that I need to do the right thing. That I need to save those children." She walks barefoot across the empty bungalow, in bloodstained awe. "It's a vision from heaven itself. From god. Lightning Spangles must be the second coming. It must be the chance for salvation..."
"And if I die?"
Jezebel mutters to herself, staring out into the window. "I would deserve it. I would deserve it for all the awful things I have done to everyone. I deserve it. I deserve it. I love me, and I deserve every form of punishment against me. Because I am a good and pure woman now, and would die to ensure the Spangles Paradise." Jezebel says, touching on the last bit of clotted blood on her cheek, peeling it off.
Before sucking it off her fingertips, smiling broadly.
Log created on 13:43:37 08/12/2018 by Jezebel, and last modified on 19:29:17 08/12/2018.