Shara - Angel of Torment ... continued

...She managed to imagine exactly what they were going to do to her and instead of braking with fear she was able to prepare herself properly. When the time came she would just say goodbye to the body parts that would soon stand in the limelight of her total destruction. She would severe her whole self from these parts and just watch them dying. Still she would be consciously listening to the screams her limbs, her skin, her muscles, her nerves were sending to her and she would softly say to them: “I hear you, and I am sorry but I cannot help you.” The back and forth of fear and torment would become lullabies. She would stand upright and caringly at the side of the part of her that would be soon be dead. When it would be over and something had survived she could soothe her body and attentively help it until the pain would subside. If the pain was all that remained she would have a memorial in her refuge and celebrate the goodbye, the death of yet another little part of her. The body parts that would succumb to pain and agony were from here on only flesh. Dead weight vainly trying to attack her in her refuge. Through the power of her fantasy she was more and more able to prepare herself to the coming events that she had already grieved over the little death of the episode before it even started. As long as there was one spark left to fire her lungs desire for living air she would be able to endure everything they would do to her next. And to know beforehand helped a lot to keep that spark.
Had they had left her in darkness and had they just robbed her of herself bit by bit without those colorful sadistic announcements, meant to increase her fear and despair, she would have long sunk into the inferno of the world of her dreams. And maybe she would have already begged her lungs to please just give up.
But instead she became so good in dying in small installments that she began to ask herself why they weren’t trying to rape her soul more effectively. Always and always again they wanted to use the fear of physical pain, rape, punches, cuts, tearing flesh, breaking bones, burning tissue and the twitching, cramping, fires of electric shocks to bring her to give up her life. To give up her soul. Why did they by addressing only physical fear always give her the opportunity to flee to the inside? To severe herself from the events occurring? Just enough to still see it but not to faint immediately.
So over imaging what glorious appearance the syringe like object would make in her bodies swan lake she slowly came to the final step of her thoughts:
How would I torment myself?
Since she already had come up with even more cruel and effective applications for the devices used by her tormentors and since she knew exactly what one would do to save the mind from those devices she felt like becoming a mistress of death. The true supreme ruler over souls. If one were to give her the power over a body no one else could be better in afflicting the greatest pain and agony to body AND soul. She would always keep her victim on the brink of giving up on everything. She would never completely brake them but also never let them flee like she was able to. Just as her own body was dying she would bring death to the soul inch by inch. Always planting new seeds of hope and nourish them only to brutally rip them out when getting fat with life. And again leaving a little hint of hope. Again and again until its hope and love itself that would cannibalize the soul.

She completely gave in to this fantasy. She escaped into a dream world of torture under her own control, waiting for the door to finally open for the next chapter to be written. Oher than in her demonic nightmares, that melting pot of her bad memories, that time in which she was way beyond broken: In this dreams of torturing she was a caring loving Angel who would with great love and devotion milk the highest possible amount of quality despair out of her wards.
When one or more men and women would finally come in to continue ending her existence she would maybe even laugh. Their attempts to torture her would seem dull, colorless and dilettante. Even when the tears and the screams, maybe even the flight into unconsciousness would return, she would never again feel like a desecrated victim. She was a mistress of an art in the hands of ungifted children who used her for stickman drawings. They were mere students, never to be able to comprehend the true scale of art and aesthetics within their craft.
The more she was able to feel like this the less she feared it would be the last time they would come. When they would finally kill her it would only be evidence to the fact that they wasted the chance to create something truly magnificent. She could only pity them for being so blind.
The door opened.
Shara really had to smile. Maybe she would die her last death today. But they had made her into a true mistress, an angel of torment. Whatever reason they had to do this to her. The longer they continued the greater Shara would become. She already was beyond their potential. She raised her head, ignoring the pain and smiled at her tormentors. She couldn’t wait to die a little more. To become even greater!
When they injected her with the poison her body was literally eaten alive. She was sitting in her refuge until her last breath. And it was not a breath of fear. She and Death met in a warm embrace and the Angel of Torment and her new lover began their beautiful romance of living life to the fullest through dying to the greatest extend.
The End