I love it most when they scream in pain;
Cliched as that might sound.
Their tearful pleading exhilarates me;
Especially when they are unbound...
I adore the feeling of letting them run
In the knowledge that they won't get away.
I'm afraid that once you enter my lair;
You are simply here to stay...
My greatest joy is in wresting confessions
For in pain they admit to any crime.
How many times have they renounced their devils
Squealing all the time...
A white hot poker, can work such wonders
The tightest of tongues will turn to slack.
I like to hold it against their flesh;
Until it blisters, chars and goes utterly black...
The smell of flesh that has been branded by iron
Is purer than the air in the highest of peaks.
The kind of refreshment I need to find;
Is something obtained from the weak...
My favourite victims are the witchling girls;
For they are used to calling on magic.
Take that away they are but mewling kittens;
A fate which is r