Page 36 of Horror and Chill
Corwin nods.
I scoff.
Corwin finally stops pacing. He stands behind the couch, arms folded tight across his chest, like he’s holding something in. His eyes stay fixed on the screen, on the frame frozen mid-breath. Her mouth parted. Her chest rising. That flicker of pain…or was it pleasure? Hard to tell with her. Maybe that’s the point.
“She thanked us,” Evander says.
“She thanked the chat,” I correct, but even as I say it, I’m not sure I believe it.
“No,” Evander insists, softer now. “She looked right at the camera.”
“She looked at the camera because she’s a performer,” Corwin snaps. “She knows how to hold an audience. That doesn’t mean she knows us.”
“She does,” I say before I can stop myself. “She felt it. That moment in the dark. She knew it wasn’t just a scene. It was for us.”
Corwin’s knuckles go white where they grip the couch back. “You think a couple good fucks means she belongs to us?”
I turn toward him, slow and deliberate. “No. I think what comes after does.”
Evander doesn’t say anything. Just stares at the screen like he’s trying to memorize her breath. The way she licked her fingers. The way her thighs trembled, not from fear but from something that wanted to stay.
“She didn’t run,” he repeats.
“Not yet,” Corwin mutters. “But maybe she will. Maybe we just haven’t given her enough reason.”
The silence stretches.
“She’s still playing,” Evander murmurs.
Corwin laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “She’s playing with fire.”
I move to the laptop and scrub the timeline back. Watch the last ten seconds again. Her eyes lock on the lens. Her lips part. The thank you. It’s soft. Almost tender. Almost like a confession.
“She’s choosing us,” I say.
Corwin pushes away from the couch, restless again. “Or she’s testing us. Same thing in the end.”
Evander looks up, something unreadable in his eyes. “She cried,” he says. “And not just from pain.”
My hands curl into fists. Not because I’m angry. Because I remember it too. That sound she made when I touched her. Not a scream. Not a sob. Something more raw than either.
“She’s not scared enough,” Corwin says.
“Maybe she’s not meant to be scared,” I reply.
Corwin spins toward me. “Then what is she meant to be?”
“Our queen,” I say, calm and sure. “If she can take it.”
Corwin’s mouth curls into a grin, sharp and teeth-bared. “And if she can’t?”
“Then we bury her,” Evander says, and I don’t flinch. Because that’s not a threat. It’s a truth we all know. He rises to his feet. “She stayed,” he says. “Even after the stream ended. She sat in the blood and waited. Like she wanted more.”
I nod.
Corwin crosses to the window table near the far wall and grabs the blank mask form we keep for customization. He holds it up to the light, then sets it down and starts carving.
“New face,” he mutters. “When she sees me, I want her to bleed from looking.”
