The operative..Small petite, and arched, like a child.
He was small, and neat and balanced – with a cool unreasonable quietness, that sat malevolently perched , despite his smallness, waiting beneath fine porcelain skin. Cruelty leached out of him in a steely high refining beauty- repugnant but inviting in it's quality. It spoke of an alone man, formed around the borders of a peach plum mouth; of an away mind with precise tastes, and close closeted commitment to purpose - that held itself neat and beyond display. I used to surreptitiously watch him, enthralled but afraid. But there was never enough time, because the stop would always come, and he would get off- and disappearing; lead off into the day- small steps carrying his impossibly childlike frame. He had the essence of a zen master, a ministerial assassin; that bore the full terror of his torturing being behind the smooth contours of a doll like face. There was something chilling in the beauty of it, that meant, I simply could not look away. MB
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