He had eyes like ants swarming the carcass of a moth. Specks of black writhed over the dull fades of grey and sand; shiny, screaming, devouring – brown like the moth-winged curve of his sharp mouth. Pincer teeth hid behind svelte lips. And a smile, mechanical joints clicking muscles into place; a sharp, evil thing.
The same mechanical joints in his fingers drove them to caress the open book. The words squirmed from his fingertips as a breath oozed from him.
“Delightful.”
A voice like the suckling of marrow. There was a deep slurp to it, a revelling scrumption of joy.
His fingers traced to the edge, slid over the table and up my arm. Maggot breath corrupted the path between his lips and mine. His hand, the white mechanical spider, closed around my throat.
“Simply delightful.”
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