Villainous Flash Contest

[Ad Absurdum]

Villainous Flash Contest


"Do you expect me to talk?"

"No, Mr Bond, I expect you to write."


Bring forth your mustache twirlers, your schemers, your Claudius, your Injins, your Lucifers and all others. Villains whether misunderstood or purely evil concentrate or somewhere in between. A good plot will do you good in this flash contest but a colourful character will do you better.

Rules

• Deadline is next Wednesday, December 6th Midnight PST.
  
• 1000 words or under
  
• Winner decided by popular vote. If you write a piece, please review and vote as well*

Best of luck!

*otherwise I claim your first born.

[Sekot]

And god laughed.

I laughed too.

I drank the last of the wine in my glass, tipping my head as far back as I could. My thoughts ran as it slipped past my lips, my thoughts hungered. The weight of the weapon in my hand pulled at my shoulder and I ached. My body felt weak. I felt tired. Decrepit.

I sat the glass down with finality. The glass shook and hummed for one brief second before going still as a corpse in a grave. Across the table he looked at me. Across the expanse, I locked eyes with him. Candles lit our faces, danced shadows on the walls, and whispered prophetic nightmares.

I raised the gun. Pointed it at him. He remained seated, hands grasping the end of the table with knuckles white as untouched snow. Somewhere distant a piano played for the guests outside. Its solemn and twisted song played as soundtrack to our distraught little piece of theatre.. His lips were thin, held tight against one another in the only comforting embrace he allowed himself. My hand trembled. It shook and the gun rattled too like it does in the movies.

There was a desperate pace to my heart. A cloyingly warm touch to the air that braised my face. Light from fireworks outside lit intermittently, their soft explosions not penetrating the depth of my walls. I wanted to say something. To speak to him, to reason why. But I found my mouth dry. Found my tongue thick as lead.

I snapped my fingers and a butler appeared from the shadows. They delicately poured my glass full of more viscous wine and disappeared without a sound. I broke eye contact with him then, looked down at my glass. Smeared with fingerprints, having lost its characteristic sheen, the liquid within still sung a tune to me. I picked it up, brought it to my lips. Tasted it and felt the laughter course through me.

I fired then. Felt the weight of the trigger as my finger proved the greater. He danced at the end, coughed and rose to stand. Blood as thick and red as my wine poured out of him, and I fired again and again and again. What was he but foolish man to think that I was the one more at risk?

He collapsed onto his plate. Eyes wide. Tongue thick. Blood pooled around his face, dripped in thick droplets onto the floor. Coagulated into curds. I stood for quite some time. I stared. The piano picked up, the crescendo approaching beethovenesque heights. I swore I heard a violin. Were they lamenting the hero? Was that who he was? Could not I now rewrite the histories? I raised the gun to mine own temple and placed my finger on the trigger. It now did not shake but instead remained steady. I no longer feared the promise it kept.

But it asked me if I had given myself time to mourn. It asked me if this was truly it, if I was ready for it. As I looked upon the corpse at the other end of the table, I was not sure. This had been the plan all along, after all. But now, here I remained and he was not.

I lowered my weapon and drank the last of glass. Truly the last. I felt it burn through me, felt my body quiver and quake. The world had overturned itself, had overcome itself and let loose. The gates of hell had opened and shut and the last laugh of god sang.

I threw my glass against the wall. Delighted in its shatter. I turned on my heels. Took a step, felt my body grow stronger than it ever had. I threw open the doors at the end of my banquet hall and stepped out onto a balcony that overlooked the main entrance. A crowd milled about, talking amongst themselves. Dressed in finery, dressed in ttheir very very best they too sipped at wines and munched on hor d'oeuvres.

They laughed. They talked. Ignorant. Unknowing. They did not care about what had just transpired, at least not yet. The truth of the ramifications were just to come, the reality of it all just beyond their current grasp. They knew not the anger that swelled within me, they were those who survived the earthquake but waited for the tsunami. The hunger swelled with the music, it ate through me, became me, possessed my body until my mind was but a slave to it. I was a monster, I had become a killer of gods and men and that was an unforgivable sin that I delighted in.

I whistled, and the music went silent. I whistled, and the lights grew bright. I whistled, and they all turned to me.

“A toast,” I said.

Glasses were raised upward, their attention drawn toward me and only me. Smiles. I smiled back. Falsely. My face pulled too much at the edges, the skin at the corner of my eyes wrinkled just a little too much. Too tight. Will have to work on that.

“A toast,” I repeated. “To all those who made this night a reality, who gave their sweat and their tears to make this dream real. I could not have done it without you.”

Applause. Polite. Was that it? Was that his toast?

“I set out tonight to declare my love. I had a mission and wanted you all to be a part of it. This was as much for me as it was for all of you, I’m sure. But, all nights like these must eventually come to an end…”

There was a groan that interrupted him. The night had only begun, how could he be ending it so soon?

He laughed, “Not quite, my friends. Though I recognize my old age, and truly wish nothing more than to crawl into a warm bed, you are welcome to stay as long as you please. Please, drink up. I hear my wine is to die for.”

Louder applause. A few cheers.

They were slow creatures. I felt a sour taste swell in my mouth as I consumed yet another produced glass. Was this the same vintage? It had suddenly tasted so dull, so sour, like milk left out in the hot afternoon sun. I poured the rest of it out, not caring what got on my shoes.

I waited. Hung held low. My love, that was not a lie. I was meant to say it, to confess it. But I couldn’t. That was my weakness. All of this had been for you, and, in the end, I had let you down. We shared those nights. Shared that touch between us. You knew me better than anyone, and it was you who was destined to try and stop me.

A shout pierced the frenzied music. A scream soon followed by another. And another. Voices lost focus, lost cohesion as conversations became scattered and diffuse. I raised my head. My eyes bright with flame. Below me they died. One by one. Vile abominations. Creatures twisted and misshapen into cruel amalgams of humanity. I killed them. I killed them all.

And I laughed.

And god did not.

[Injin]

“One part tragedy, one part miracle,
That is taught the merits of life itself.
Where strained pleas of horror and crucible,
Lie abandoned on god’s unfinished shelf.”
- Awrae, First Sage of Marlowe

“Is that all you have to say, hand of death?” a voice asked, piercing the darkness that shone naught but in the center of the room where the kneeling figure lay, accursed and accused.

“Nay, milord, I say nay,” said the shaking voice, “I was not there and I sit, here, accused of malfeasance, of indecent felonies and high crimes, innocent to the end.” The kneeling figure, dressed in the rags of a prisoner, slowly turned his gaze up to the figure reclining on his throne.

Standing from his seat on the altar, a man trapped, no, enraptured, no, encircled in his robes rises, his eyes already trained on the prisoner. “Then how can you explain your presence, wretch? Innocent men do not disguise themselves.”

The linen tatters, stained and oily, beheld nothing but the sorry state of the man wearing them. Sticking to his skin, they sweat into him as he sweat into them. Briefly he looks behind himself, his eyes twitching, before turning back to the Sage. “I swear to you, I am loyal, I am of sound allegiance to your Holiness.”

“What sound allegiance, you say, to this Sage? What a ridiculous notion, have you?” the judge asked, removing himself from his seat. The sound of chains dragged after him, bloodshot eyes looking upon the decrepit form of the prisoner. “I am not your master, nor am your lord. You speak of falsehood alone as your creed.”

“I am only a jester, good lord. Please grant your mercy and understanding to this wretch, this man of mirth and revelry. I was hiding from the great evil that befell the farmstead and nothing more.” Hands wringing, free of entrapment only, his blood and filth coating his skin, scattered detritus flaking to the floor. Again, he looked behind him, coughing blood as he returned his gaze to the judge before him.

The chained Sage, the echo of the metal links clangoring on the floor as he walked closer to the captured fool, grinned a smile of perversion, no, of satisfaction, no, of unfounded glee. Upon his broken visage, the holy man stumbled and ambled over to the prisoner. Each step, in the eyes of the kneeling man, growing ever closer and overwhelming. The Sage approached still.

“Wait, please-“

Grabbing the head of his prisoner, the Sage’s eyes glowed with malefic energies, the chains rapt and chittering as they suddenly burst from the body of the holy man. The chain, alive and shuddering in elation, sunk into prisoner’s flesh. Blood erupts from the man’s eyes, ears, mouth, and whatever openings the chains rent forth. The body of the prisoner was taut on the floor. Flayed.

The Sage looked past the body and into the darkness. Eyes bright and grin shining, he stomped the body over and over, and inhuman glee to his movements. “Well, do you have something to say, my child?

As the executioner gazed further, past the ambient darkness, the small form of man, a feminine arm wrapped them, stared into the Sage’s eyes without blinking. Light slowly filled the room as the Sage finally stepped past the ruined corpse, a look of satisfaction, no, relief, no, release on his face.

“Abandoned, you feel, by the hand of god? So too, has your father been left unmade.”

The child said nothing, fear in their eyes, wrapped in their mother’s arms, alone, unharmed. For now, thought the Sage, a twisted grin coming to his fore at the sight of the child. The wicked priest’s eyes turned to meet the mother’s.

The tightened grip upon her child, shook, and then went limp as the Sage moved quickly, too quickly for the mother to react, a chain through her throat. The child, who had been silent until now, cried out in a panic, turning and twisting to get out under their collapsing mother’s form.

The doors behind the child opened and they took their chance, bolting to the opening, only for the same chain that had struck down their mother to wrap around their neck. The Sage calmly walked to the child, the glee, the glimmer from their eyes fading as they knelt next to the child. “Fear not this day, child, relish it and feast. You are free to design your destiny. Flee, flee to the city and grow hardened. Seek vengeance and fail, as is destined, whelp.”

Chains slackening, the young orphan was soon out of sight, the wicked priest turning back to the altar where they had begat their judgment. “Delicious, isn’t it, oh my bounded woe?” the Sage whispered to himself, licking the essence of life from his chains. “Too sweet for more, send them home, sentinels.”

Nodding from the shadows, groups of families were shepherded out the open door, returning their lines with a nervous freedom to the guard just outside the front door. Another guard leaned down and took the lines from the floor next to the freshest corpse and joined his fellows. The room, once more, was filled with darkness, the obscene, no, perfected, no, indulgent smile of the Sage the only gleaming light remaining in defiled space.

One phrase filled the mind of the seated man: “the Merits of Life Unbound, hahaha.”

[Jenny (Reffy)]

Ten minutes to two … A.M. and a finger’s width from the bottom of a Jack Daniel bottle.



The firm left me a voice message after the trial. I don’t have to go in tomorrow. Just as well, really, because I don’t think I could focus if I tried. I can’t sleep and the hallway speaks of my pacing. The orange glare from the streetlamps through my windows and the dull grey shapes in the lounge are my only company. Lizzie wanted to meet up for dinner but I couldn’t face her.



As we exited the media wanted statements, the latest headline to be written, which he was all too willing to give, while I pushed through for the nearest bar. I was hailed as a hero for protecting the innocent and the best lawyer in the city. His statement: the killer is still out there and that he’ll assist the police in bringing the murderer to justice.



All of that would have been fine on any other normal day. Except today. Today the killer walked free in the shape of my client. His own three year old daughter, found in the woods, beaten and strangled. The police bungled it up; lost evidence and the report from the hospital. Handy that! I didn’t know he was guilty, not until we exited the building and he joked with me like I was in on the secret.



I was no hero. I failed that little girl: Eloise Chantry. A name I will never forget. He only got away with it because of my actions as his defence. I protected him while the mother cried herself hoarse in the courtroom. I failed her. I let the villain, the murderous scum, go.



The realisation, the repetitive thought, brings with it a grunt and ache of pain through the drunken numbness. Another teeth-clenching swig of JD. A vacant scratch along the stubble line. Maybe I’m in the wrong job. I am no hero.

[J.O.N ((Dragonwing))]

Why don’t you love my corpse marionette?

I watch you rush from village to village,
Through smoking ruins and burning buildings.
The final remains of what my army pillage,
The bloodied fields of their glorious killings.
I see you stop amongst ashes bowing down low,
Why you break down and sob I cannot know.

I am entranced by how your tears glisten,
upon fair cheek, red and blistering.
From a body burnt and scarred I listen,
To those soft words I hear you whispering.
An honour bound oath to see my end.
From those words I begin to comprehend.

I feel a beating of a heart still weak,
A new desire that awakens me.
Could you be what I seek?
What could I do to let you see?
How can I reveal this new love of mine?
To one such as you – so divine.

A new purpose I have gained,
To show you a world wrought from emotion.
That love of mine that I have now attained,
Every dying child a testament of my devotion.
Every horror you witness makes you grow.
Into what I can only call a beautiful rose.

You are filled with a new determination,
I hear how the masses cry out for you.
I can not stand this apparent exhilaration,
Their new found yearning is simply undue.
What can they know of your suffering and ordeal?
I am what has made your beauty truly real!

Where your moonlit blade falls,
I make my blackened heart its foe.
Where my army scales ruined walls,
I know to trust to see you lay them low.
That is how we know our love is true.
Because you need me as I need you!

But I know you cannot see,
That my love for you is hidden.
I must help set your heart free,
Unchain it from its vows bidden.
That oath that let me truly feel.
Must be shattered so it may heal.

An oath bound by lost love,
Must be broken by its return.
From the dead I raise above,
Something I know you yearn.
From ethereal threads her smile sit,
With mothers love I would see you submit.

And yet defiant here you stand,
with tired and withered eyes.
I have returned her by my hand,
And yet you still cry for my demise?
Why do you fill my heart with regret?
Why don’t you love my corpse marionette?

[Ad Absurdum]

  The Justice Prime

“The King thinks I’ve become a bit unhinged, have I?” Lilith’s voice makes each word sweet, sharp–a hyper-encunciation. Her nails, impossibly perfect, bite slightly into the skin of the apple trapped in her fingers. “If this is a matter of me reminiscing about the war, rest assured, I’m quite grateful such things are behind us..”

Ambassador Therese takes in the former Chief Sorceress, now Justice Prime. The promotion was still something that did not sit right with her. A main actor in the conflict now give carte blanche to try the war crimes of the losers. But, bias was her least concern at the moment.

“He simply questions your methods, Justice,” Therese states.

“Please, love, I know connotation when I hear it. It’s why I was hired to do what I do, is it not? Distill the lies and pulp the truth out of it?” White teeth meet scarlet skin as Lilith digs into the fruit. For the first time, she grins. “You must be hungry…Therese, is it?”

“That’s correct.”

“Funny how the King works. Hiring someone whose brother –it was your brother, right?–just so happened to be a lieutenant for the other side.”

Therese blinks, that certainly was not meant to be public knowledge. “Blood doesn’t bind allegiance.”

“So you’re not here because of him, then?”

“No.”

Lilith takes another bite, each one is deep, cleaving chunks from the fruit. Juice froths from the corners of her mouth as she speaks. “You see, that there is a lie. You didn’t think, Therese, that you could just saunter up into my domain and lie to the Justice Prime?”

Therese scoffs, but Lilith lets the silence speak for her, plucking an apple from the bowl between them, rolling it towards the Ambassador.

The bowl full of apples is the only flash of colour within Lilith’s ivory domain. Therese still can’t believe how impossibly white everything is, sparkling with the same incandescence as freshly laid snow. She’s heard about the Inquisitorial Court before, knows the much clamored symbolism–truth is purity–but never imagined it like this. Lilith’s gown, her Justice robes, reflect the same sentiment, and even her skin appears impossibly pale, as though years of spellcasting have drained any colour from it. The only contrast is her lipstick, a matte ebony that distorts each of her smiles into a clinical simper.

Finally: “You appear uncomfortable.” Juice now pools down Lilith’s chin, sticky and sweet, judging on how her tongue rushes to pool it in.

“Hardly.”

A final bite, and she drops the core upon the table. “Another lie.” A sleeve of Lilith’s robe rises to both wipe apple from her chin and smear a smirk upon her face. “Eat, love. I can’t bear the thought of being a bad host. And do entertain me, with these so-called concerns of the King.”

Therese slowly takes a bite, almost feeling guilty of leaving an indent upon its surface. It is remarkably sweet, better than any fruit she’s ever tasted. “You’ve dismissed every other Justice. Made yourself sole Inquisitor. Increased trials tenfold. All in the name of efficiency–“

“And it has been efficient has it not? Three hundred trials in–howlongnow–the last fortnight? Lilith’s own teeth halve the apple, the crisp bite punctuating her sentence. Now, Therese silently wishes that the Justice Prime would return her eyes to the ceilings.

“The King worries that such ‘efficiency’ may lead to inaccuracy.”

Lilith’s lips smack together, ebony twins twitching in annoyance. “Ah, is that the case? He fears my calculus is inaccurate?”

Therese allows herself to chuckle, a facade of confidence. “That’s right.”

“Such a sweet thing, answering my questions. Much better than most who stand trial here.” Lilith’s mouth engulfs the rest of the fruit. “But, believe me, love. My method is flawless, impeccably so.” Shards of its core fall between fingers, glistening ripe as it shatters upon the table below. “Do you know why he gave me the position of Justice Prime?”

“I have a few ideas.”

Teeth crack through Lilith’s smirk. “I’m certain you do. All of them most certainly incorrect. But the truth of it is he thought my magic could perhaps compel those to confess. War crimes can be so relative after all. The enemy, people like that silly brother of yours, thinking they’re fighting the noble fight. But the King figured I had a few tricks up my sleeve..” Another apple is already clenched into her hand, Lilith’s tongue darting out to not so much lick–but rather caress–its surface. “And you know what? He was right.”

Nausea. Therese takes another bite to quench it. Somehow, the sweetness is gone. “Nothing can be that flawless.”

“Silly girl. The problem with justice lies in its nuance. Most people are complex, a tapestry of truths and lies. Innocent in one regard yet frightfully guilty in another. Not all of us are like you, tart Therese, most of us are better at hiding our inhibitions. But, here…I’ve made justice expressive. I’ve simplified it. Made it palatable…”

Therese takes another bite. She doesn’t want to reply, doesn’t want to entertain this.

Almost immediately, she regrets it.

“I’ve now made the rotten ones oh so easy to find. A sweet fruit can only hide so much, dear Therese, before my teeth dig into it. Just one single bite and my judgement is sound. Bruised and mushed and bittered because of their crimes. How flawed they are!” Now Lilith bites in, her teeth shredding through crimson skin, chewing slowly as she speaks, savouring each and every word. “It almost saddens me, how few crisp ones I find. How little of them are entirely pure. But it brings me joy to assuage them, render them innocent. Grant them safe passage to whatever lies beyond.”

Now, the Justice Prime lets her smirk bloom wide, becoming a grin, one slick with fruit shrapnel lodged between each of her teeth. Her eyes soak in Therese, before darting down to fruit she once held, now impulsively discarded on the table as if a plague “So tell me, love. Is that dear brother of yours as sweet as expected?”

[Sekot]

Sekot

You wrote this drunk and without editing didn't you?

You did.

Ugh.

Injin

I have a very poor opinion of intro quotes/passages/whatever. You aren't Frank Herbert. This is a flash piece. That alone could have been your story but no. You decided to do more. Stop it.

The rest of it I don't really hate. Its well written. Its just that this isn't a contained story so much as a vignette of a larger story. And that larger story plays so much into what's happening here that I struggle to really engage with it. Am I horrified? I mean, I guess? The story is basically telling me to be horrified by its diction, but these are just a bunch of actors playing a part in something I know nothing about or really care about.


James

There's a bit of a frantic nature to this post. It bounces all over the place in its tone and what I think its trying to say. And I'm not sure it works. Everything in it is very abstract, and there's not a lot to hold on to to point me in a good direction as to what exactly is happening. Interesting in concept, but I don't get it.


Reffy

You're a champion at this style and it shows here. You put a lot of good imagery in your first few lines. My only comment is that I wish you had the MC struggle as she thought she was the villain. That was the way I was thinking you were going to go and kind of took a hard left back to normal town. Otherwise solid.


Jason

i did not like it



Was tempted to just leave you that but decided against it. I do not think poetry works for this sort of style, I think I got lost trying to sift through the rhyming to really be able to decipher what it was that you were trying to say. Overall it felt really distracting and there wasn't much rhythmic flow between the lines themselves. I like corpse marionette though.



Sam

I can't help but read this as some sort of cry for help after your studies. Like some sort of law school feverish nightmare. The fruit metaphor is a little overplayed. I think her talking about treating people like fruit while also eating fruit is a bit much. Seems...camp. If that was your goal, kudos.

edit: im an idiot and missed it


None of you win for I am the true villain haha


double edit: because i had time to think about it

Reffy,
Sam,
Myself, for truly i am a masterful villain

[J. Russell]

Sekot:

The opening is well thought out, but the middle seems to have some inconsistencies with the character or the description by that character. Either the scene where your villain shoots someone is purely symbolic, or it marks a break in that character's logic. Your villain killed the guests with poison. Why didn't he kill the other victim with poison? If it was meant to be personal, why use a gun instead of strangulation or bludgeoning? A gunshot is too quick for the villain to relish the death, isn't it?

Aside from that complaint, I thought the piece was well-written and has vivid imagery and symbolism. It was an enjoyable read.

I rate this a Grigory Mairanovsky.


Injin:

TENSES, TENSES, WHY DO YOU CHANGE TENSES? I do like the story and the descriptions, but the TENSES. GAH!

I also noticed that you did not have much dialogue. What little your characters say is buried deep in the description of the scene. It may be better to have the dialogue separate. Is the dialogue really needed for the story? Other than those complaints, I like where the story went. Could you expand it into a longer piece? I would love to see some high fantasy novel with this scene somewhere in it.

I rate this one Salem, MA.


James:

For some reason, this reminded me of Clive Barker. Maybe it was how direct and cosmic your narrator is. The vagueness of some lines makes sense with the scale of the narrator. After reading through it twice, I had a sense I recognized elements from somewhere. Ignoring Star Trek V, I really liked this story because it wasn't a story of revenge or vengeance. It was simply a narrative of what was, and is, and what will be.

I rate this one “What does God need with a Star Ship?”


Reffy:

OH MAN, that twist was good, but I think that it needed to be later in the story. That's what a good flash needs. It has closure, but it has just enough left for the reader to imagine an ending. It leaves the reader thinking, “Does the lawyer kill himself? Does he go and kill his client? Does his family hate him? Does everyone shun him? Do they view HIM as the villain?”

I don't know why I like this story so much.

I rate this a James Ellroy.


Jason:

I... I can't decide if this is beautiful or horrifying. Are you sure you are not a psychopath? Do you need help? We are here to help. You can talk to us.

I rate this one Ed Gein. Actually, you can have two.



Ad:

Symbolism, magic-induced-cannibalism, and description are all fantastic. The twist at the end may be hard to follow if someone didn't remember that Lilith is a sorcress. Goddamn though. I feel like this story and Injin's could be in the same universe. This is a little longer than I would consider a Flash fiction piece. This is a great piece.

I rate this one Chili Con Carnival.


Rankings:

1: Reffy
2: James
3: Ad

[Jenny (Reffy)]

Always hate reviewing because I am sure I miss half the things you guys put into your stories >...> Cryptic bunch


Sekot:

Feels an awful lot flowery for a flash fiction which is used to preserve word counts and use brevity! That said, it is a beautiful flowery-ness. I really liked the visuals you created and how well it suckered me in. I really liked the notes on how the perceived audience would view the act and how they would think him the hero, etc. The second thinking as well during the toast and the really human thoughts that interrupted was very well done. Final thoughts: brilliant and captivating.


Injin:

A couple of times I found it difficult to follow and had to re-read. I think it might have been the re-thinking parts, no, the bits where it changed, no < these bits made it difficult to follow and interrupted the flow. I did like the use of the older language and the slightly formality of it though, which I imagine was hard to keep going. That said, not entirely sure what happened in the story or why they were there? What exactly was going on? It felt like some sort of judgment but …? There is more to this story than I am getting and not a self encapsulating tale.


James:

“It was foolish of me, but then why would the lion worry itself with the planning of the slug.”

Loved this from start to finish. It had the weirdest of sensations as I was reading that … sort of made me feel small and inconsequential. The thing, the thoughts I was reading and following and which felt so very real, was huge. It felt enormous and yet fascinated by the goings on below. This was such an easy and interesting read.


Reffy:

Woo!


Dragon:

It’s definitely more poetry than flash fiction BUT it was beautiful and you knocked the subject out of the park. I really like the yearning you captured and the feelings. The imagery was also beautiful. I like how the villain in this believes he is helping and cannot understand why the hero doesn’t appreciate it; like a misunderstood villain more than anything else. I like as well how the villain wanted the hero to realise the love between them and the need to continue. Perhaps that is just me seeing that but it was a good piece!


Ad:

This read so easily and was smooth! I liked how you used the apple’s and the imagery of her eating it, ripping it apart, as part of her accusations and revealing questioning. That was a really clever ploy and especially when the apple did not taste as sweet to Theresa any more. Brilliant piece. There really isn’t anything bad I can say about it. Not sure I got a villain feeling from it though? Justice was harsh, sure, and definitely gave off feelings of evil with the apple but she was right? But perhaps that is part of your ploy here - to make us question if she truly is a villain.



Votes:
1, James
2, Ad
3, Sekot