Webs of Lies

During the turmoil, he sits patiently in the corner, tapered fingers steepling to frame a smile that curled his marble lips like a contented cat. His snowy white hair falls in thin tendrils over his eyes, black as pitch, that shone with a twisted sadism beyond human comprehension. His skin glowed white as the cherry blossoms that glowed in the moonlight, falling gently through the open window. His small, lithe frame is draped in an Armani suit, the cloth as dark as the laughs in his eyes. He watches his victims fall around him, their bodies sugared with the feathery petals that floated in with the draft. His revenge is cold and he has come to use it, for the boy who nobody notices is Death, smiling his Cheshire-cat smiles as he spins his web of lies, for the only pain caused by the dead is to those who have lost them.