If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time or the tools to write - Stephen King, On Writing, p. 147
Candy ran a hand along the banister as she began her descent, enjoying the slowly building warmth as steps slipped beneath her hurrying feet. She counted idly, not yet able to believe that she had achieved her goal.
She paused with a lazy smile as she reached The Accountant, amused by her desire to name each baluster. He had been too easy, a figure altered here, a total changed there, an email to his boss and his suicide had been guaranteed. The accountant had been her thousandth job and for that reason alone she felt he deserved a moment of her time… but no more than that.
She picked up speed, passing more that she had long forgotten, all steps to her desire. The heat became volcanic as she reached the final step, no little pride in her demeanor. Five thousand people driven to death, the last her finest work, a priest she had seduced and watched as he impaled himself upon a golden candlestick before his altar.
The great black doors, glowing with heat swung open and she stepped inside.
“Welcome home.” Came the voice of flame and delicious terror that had comforted her nights and fuelled her days