Scaramouche

Another week gone by and “The Balladeer” had claimed another victim. While the trill of the hunt and slaying his victims was intoxicating, the next part was something he looked forward to the most.

The light outside of the confessional booth barely illuminated the space, casting eerie shadows on Scaramouche's face as he waited. The corner of his lips perked up as he heard the familiar sound of nervous footsteps approaching.

“Good evening, Father,” his voice tinged with noticeable excitement as the other person settled inside the other confessional booth. He might not see the person on the other side of the wooden partition but he knew who it was.

Aether.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Scaramouche mocked, an underlying edge of darkness in his tone. He chuckled softly, relishing the game he played with the priest. “But you already knew that, didn't you?”