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After being trapped in Hell for eternity, the memory loss occurs with the rotting of the soul. They would forget major life events, important dates like birthdays, and family members. They would forget feelings, bliss and happiness are most commonly the first to go. Hope is always the last. They would forget what food tasted like. Hell traps everyone eventually.

 

Misty Day had forgotten red. 

For eternity, it seemed, she had been trapped in her freshman biology class, where she had been assigned to dissect a frog. The world was the color of sickness, pale grays, greens and yellows. Except when she was inevitably forced to murder the frog, making the red burn her eyes with all the brilliance of the sun. 

Then her teacher, the driving force of terror in her Hell, turns red. Everything goes silent. The spell breaks.

Mr. Kingery slumps off the blade and collapses to the floor. 

Who are you? Misty thinks to ask, but can't for some reason. He wordlessly grabs her arm.

“Don’t touch me,” Misty yanked herself back.

“My name is Michael. I'm here to get you out." He said.

Around them, the students heads began twisting towards the ceiling. Their pupils faded, leaving only the dead whites of their eyes, staring fixed upwards. Their mouths gaped open like dead fish. Satanic whispers swarmed through the room, around them, poisoning the air.

Misty was nearly panting. He was red. But when she looked at it now, it didn't feel like agony. 

It ought to? Right? a small voice wondered in the back of her mind. 

Michael held his hand out to her. He smiled reassuringly. 

Her liberty dangled before her like a carrot on a stick, twitching as he waited, eternally patient.

No one is that patient, Misty realized. Any moment he could think she didn’t want his help and leave, and who knows then when another chance of escape would fall on her lap like this?

The air grew thick with hellish tongues, and finally they had permeated through the parts of her that were afraid of him. She grabbed his hand with both of hers. The sudden lurch made her fall forward, or did he just pull me?

The classroom stretched vertically, distorting into a population of colorful blobs. Gray gobbled up yellows and blues. Her head squished, as though it was being squeezed through an impossibly tiny hole, but there was no pain.

She screamed. No sound came. Her mouth opened wider, uninhibited by her jaw or the skin on her lips. The air she expelled dissipated weakly into the surrounding void of color, now darkening to earthy shades of orange and brown. When her lungs were empty, her skin began to tingle, making her euphoric. It was a deception, though. She didn't have a body to return to, and after having nothing to transform to, her soul would ceases to exist.

A strong hand wrapped her upper arm in an iron, yanking her through the sea of colors. Her arm was reformed where they contacted, as though she were wet clay on a potter’s wheel. 

There was no time to worry or be afraid, it was unnatural to be unformed. Her spirit recognized his alone among the chaos unraveling around her. Misty threw herself against him, aching to be wound back together. To be made whole again.

Don’t worry, he said without speaking. 

Her arms formed as his hands slid down, creating her skin, muscles, veins. When they reached her hands she clutched him gratefully. He allowed her only one precious moment of stillness, existing as only her fingertips interlocked with his, before slipping easily away.

Next he formed her legs, starting around mid-thigh, one hand on each leg until he reached her feet.

Misty had forgotten what it was like to be whole. To be just a series of nerves responding to stimuli, like a lesser life form. Some places his grip was tight enough to make her fear she’d bruise. Her savior's thick fingers speared between each of her toes all at once, making her writhe suddenly from the intensity of the sensation. He lingered there a moment, letting her express her gratitude the only way she could: writhing silently. He grabbed her hips in both of his hand and pulled her closer. She looked down and saw she was red. 

It was on Michael's hands from when he killed her teacher. She wrapped her legs around his, wanting more.

Something was missing. More of her was missing, she wasn’t whole yet, and now she ached to be. It wasn’t enough to be grateful for the parts that were returned to her. And just like his hands, if she could touch more of him, she could feel more of herself. The ghost of the body she once had, and all the sensations that it provided her.

He finally moved again, but it irritated Misty that his hands slithered up instead of down. With his fingers spread wide he smoothed out her back and coiled over her shoulders. No matter how tightly she held him, she never truly felt the same contact as where his hands were. It was like trying to grasp sand.

Her back became coated in long, red streaks. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and peeled her far away enough so he could look at her. She ached to stay attached to him, but she hadn’t the willpower to control her body. It was heavy, like dead weight, now working against her. She hadn't the strength. 

Looking into his eyes made her afraid. Especially while he touched her so intimately.

His hands slid back down, too low -

No, wait. She tried to say, but couldn’t.

Memories of her Hell spilled back to her. Non-existent skin on her face burned from the salt of her tears. Would it be better to go back to Hell?

Maybe this is your new Hell.

He’s enjoying this, she realized. But it also needed to be done. Maybe he was the only one who could… but, didn’t she have friends?

Was he a friend?

She couldn’t recall any familiarity about him, but when she thought about it, she couldn’t recall any familiarity about anyone. Michael molded her backside, then lingered for a fragment of a second, holding her there against him. She could feel the blood caking over her skin. A fresh coat of water for the potter's wheel.

Up around her backside, he constructed her torso, compressed her ribs, filled with organs. The nauseating euphoric rush was strong enough to bring her to the brink of orgasm.

She had forgotten all about that.

Misty trembled, it's too much, it's too much. Becoming whole would be the liberating explosion she sought. She knew this, and yet that voice continued. The one that made her stare into his unsettling eyes, and then berates her for staring at him like a lover. But life feels so good, I -

He wasn’t going fast enough.

He laughed at her. She sensed a hint malice in the noise, but her concern was whisked away again by his touch. A hand rested on either side of her heart, tugging on her flesh, coaxing her breasts into existence as two bloodstained hills. She hiked her legsup higher around his hips. His fingers pressed over her hardened nipples, headed upward to her neck again. The swirls of red over her body form a satanic symbol. The creavices of fingers wrapped around her neck resemble a collar.

She writhed helplessly against him, it was an effort to keep her legs around him, and more maddening to not find what she sought. Michael slid out of her grasp with such ease, like a cloud. He snickered to himself while he did so.

He was tormenting her.

One hand clasped around her neck as the other smashed crudely against her face.

The long, vertical rows of color began to thicken as her sight intensified. Real vision now, not the vision of memories.

Thank you, she tried to say but couldn’t figure out how to make her mouth form words. Her hair sprouted from her scalp, curling around itself like vines. Michael was paying careful attention to her, she noticed.

Makin’ sure he fixes me right I guess, Misty thought, watching him frown with concentration at her hair. She almost smiled but then his eyes flicked right to hers, demanding her attention.

Misty realized then she was still all wrapped around him. She found what she had been so eagerly searching for, but now she was more than just a series of nerves.

Coupled with another awareness: if she let go of him, she would fall back into Hell.

He secured her by the back of her neck and pulled her away.

No! Misty wanted to scream, her nails dug into his arms, terrified he was going to drop her. Her legs flailed desperately in the air, but moved too slow to be useful. A hand grabbed the inside of her thigh and yanked her legs open.

She couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

He had to touch every other part of her to make her whole, she supposed she should have expected this, but she still didn’t want to see. That would make it worse, somehow. Misty noticed he seemed untouched by the slowness of time and space, unlike her. His hair magically remained perfectly in tact while hers was wild as the woods around her.

He’s watching, Misty noticed and immediately blushed.

As if in response, his grip around her neck tightened as she violently shivered when he finally touched her where she wanted it most.

“Hold still.” He said, calm, but insistent.

Jesus! Misty wanted to scream. He had pulled a smooth part of her flesh and rubbed it between his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger in a circular pattern to create her clit. Now it was swollen and bright red. Each swirl of his thumb brought her closer to the edge.

It works! You can stop now, She thought desperately at him. She clutched his offending arm with both of her hands.

He smirked in response, still staring intently at his hands working between her thighs.

He’s trying to make me cum, Misty realized. 

She cried out in frustration when he stopped, and looked up at him, as if waiting for his explanation.

But one never came. He prodded south until he found what he was looking for.

Misty didn’t need him to say what it was. She already found it within herself, it had been stirring from the beginning and only when his fingers pressed that spot did her body cry out so resoundingly yes that it made her moan.

He turned to look at Misty as he pressed inside of her. He worked his fingers back and forth, as though he were digging, his thumb rubbed against her clit and it all made Misty’s head foggy. It was his smile that kept her grounded.

Michael’s grin was not the tender smile of a lover. It was the face of a child, pleased to have done something awful. It was the maniacal grin of a sociopath playing with a toy. It was dark. It was evil.

“Misty?” came a distant, distorted voice.

It was familiar.

“No time.” He said, and then moved between her legs.

Misty was beginning to feel the weight of her body now, moving was only slightly easier but still enough to hold him at arm’s length.

His strength and power hardly acknowledged her.

The smile was gone, and he was all blank again. His hands came around her neck, but didn’t squeeze.

“Hold still,” he instructed. Misty’s mouth felt dry as he lowered himself on top of her. She anticipated his weight, but it never came. She opened her eyes and there he was, staring at her with that horrific grin.

Oh god! Misty flinched as he slid inside of her. He stopped her mid-back arch with only a slight squeeze around her neck.

“Hold still.” He said again, but Misty barely heard him.

He's so big, Misty thought while her walls clenched around him. He was so hard, and hot. She felt him throbbing as he lingered inside, stretching her, filling her. 

“We’re almost done.” Michael said, and then began to thrust. Misty’s eyes began to water as the horrific smile came over his face again. What he was really telling her wasn’t what he said with his words, but she heard it through his body. Any instant she gave into her body made her adjust something to increase her pleasure. Then he would maintain it. He shifted his hips and quickened this thrusts. What he was really saying was I need you to cum.

He’s in my head, Misty thought. Her face began to pulse from the restricted blood flow.

Michael let go of her neck, making her cough suddenly. He remained over her, but now he had weight.

She was getting closer.

But what would happen if-

Michael’s hands were on her face, and then he was kissing her. Red streaks marked her cheeks and up her ears.

Misty, overwhelmed, kissed him back. Her hands moved on their own into his hair, aching to pull him closer. Michael pinned her arms behind her back.

Not like it’s hurtin’ anybody, Misty finally thought and opened herself to him. The held her tighter, restricting her completely, invading her mouth and the deepest, most sensitive parts of her. It was coming.

She couldn’t focus on kissing him anymore, or put any effort into trying to not move. He pumped increasingly faster, harder, making any hope of holding out vanish. Letting go of her wrists, her grabbed her hip with one hand to keep her still. The other went back around her neck in that painless, but domineering grip.

The maniacal grin slowly spread back over his face. If he wanted to, he could make her cum with a single wave of his hand. The agony on her face when she hit those peaks of pleasure was addicting. It fascinated and baffled him – humans are such slaves to their sins, and many before her would too easily throw themselves at his feet – yet here this woman was, in agony over experiencing the most euphoric moment of her short, pathetic life.

He went inside as deep as he could, until her face squinted up and she gasped and then he let her have it.

Oh, god oh, Jesus, oh lord – Misty tensed in preparation before the crash. His cock throbbed. A hot pool of his cum grew inside of her, sending tendrils of warmth and pleasure through her muscles, to the very surface of her skin. That was all she needed.
Michael laughed as she came, open-mouthed and loud. Like a child who got away with doing something bad. Her cunt spasmed around him desperately, lapping up his seed, as it was designed to do. He gave her more, and it was so easy how she pulled it from him. It was dripping out of her now, she could feel it.

As the initial peak subsided, Misty saw the bloody swirls around her body. A red crucifix hung upside down between her hips, aligned with her labia. Her lips glistened creamy white, spread around his thick shaft. Watching him slide in and out threatened to make her cum again. But then her attention went back to the blood. 

His cock throbbed, making her twitch. Her body screamed yes. Her heart screamed please god no more!

Instead, she was rapidly vacant. He slipped completely from her grasp and loneliness slapped her across the face. Clothes tore out of the fabric of space and wrapped into clothing around her.

Suddenly the room was clear. Browns, blacks sharpened into furniture, a roaring fireplace.

Misty’s body was still humming as everything went still. She was alive. 

"Misty..." Cordelia was there, moving in slow motion, almost afraid to touch her. As Cordelia's arms crushed around her, Misty allowed herself to feel something other than agony.

Her eyes were suddenly drawn to Michael's. Misty froze. 

He made her feel something that wasn't agony. It was so far from agony that it undone her agony. 

Misty's thighs clenched, making her all too aware of the thick pool between them. When he smiled at her, it was that same damned grin for a touch of a second. 

Something ain't right about him, she thought, and then turned away from him.