It's starts upon entry.
Soft candle light and the scents of sweat, tears, perfumes, and blood...
The rugs, drapes and paintinga immaculate.
The rooms are all soft cream colored and scented with scarlet and crimson silks.
The colors of a murder scene.
You can hear them now.
The soft cries, moans, and sighs of the tortured.
They wanted to be there, under the careful ministrations of a monster. Something not quite normal wearing human flesh.
Something that takes a perverse yet reserved joy in the suffering of its subjects.
They come because they love the pain.
The needles, pliers, salt and fire.
The cries grow louder and more ecstatic passing through the rooms.
A maze, a web, meant to disorient, leading to a spider.
A thing with a steady, studious, and predatory gaze. Maybe not entirely human, or was it ever?
Sharpened rings on its fingers, nine inch steel needles in its hands.
With a soft grin upon its face, as if listening to Mozart, or Beethoven.
The cries, moans, sighs and screams are simply its favorite music as it sips wine, and watches its restrained prey.
Detailing every flinch, every orgasm.
The air thick with the smells of lust and agony
A symphony of suffering and pleasure.
A masterpiece of the blurred lines of the human psyche.