B.

The once sharp, shiny, immaculate toy was enjoying it's own peril on my already candycane-like veins. I was just in the process of rewarding it for the pleasant pain it brought me over the years, by giving the rust some fresh bright red flowing, luscious beauty, in the intimacy of my lair, when a weird sound made it's intriguing debut infront of the chamber. Nobody ever comes here. Someone was singing, the voice seemed to be based on purity and innocence. It was followed by a shy knock on the door. But the door was invisible...my cave had no door. Still, it was there. I always felt a barrier between myself and the world; in there I was the darkness, the rest of the world was the light. The entrance to the cave was a portal, it was that radical transition - for me into their world and from their world into mine. But they never wanted to enter my world, because it was unknown to them, they prefered not to know about it and ignore it. Occasionally revolt against it, if ever - in the best case. I never really entered their world either because of the opposite reason - I knew it too well. It was repulsive.
I only went out there to kill. Their crowded world of light was much bigger than mine, it felt right to compensate, create a hint of balance between my life and theirs, by reducing their number and taking some of their light with me. If they won't give it willingly, I'll take it...no matter how hard I tried, I could never feel sorry for the larva that was incapable of evolving into a damn butterfly. 
The knocking persisted, but looking at the invisible and probably inexistent door, you still couldn't see through it,  couldn't even get the wildest idea of what awaits on the other side. In a weird way, the constant layout was always there: the huge stones, pebbles, sand and the dry little dwarftree on the left.
'Come in.'
A small, disproportioned figure appeared in the doorway, slightly distorted by he conteur of light from outside behind it, as she entered my own personal hell. 'It' approached with careful steps, the candlelight slowly revealing her gruesome features. It was a little girl, that would hardly ever be called or treated as such in the evil world of light. One step closer and she stopped. Stood still, staring with her immense eyes. At first, they seemed empty with resignation, but were telling thousands and thousands of stories. While trying to read through them, it got too loud in my head. All the voices exploded at once in a chaotic contest, taking their chance of liberation, all of them emitting different tones, in the predominant shades of sadness, anger, and a wild kind of sadistic joy. Besides being too loud, her eyes were also bloodred, embroided with tiny orange veins. She had no pupils, her eyes consisted of the overly expanded red iris. The look she gave was not at all a warm one....but a hot one. The exaggerated redness of them burned you down to ashes that she would eat for dessert. She fed on your misery and would top off her joy by consuming the dust she turned you into. Savouring it. Her hair was messy on one side, and with just a few sleek strands on the other side. The messy side was red and the other one, gray. She had no teeth, she was drooling acid. Her body was still soaked in amniotic fluid and the skin looked sheer and fragile. Veins everywhere, competing with her palor. Her hands were tiny, but she could destroy everything she touched, whenever she wanted. Her umbilical cord was hanging on her stomach, and she had a bad habbit of chewing on it. Sort of like a reflex. Her name was B. She would make everybody pay for everything.
Not me. She came to me for comfort. She needed someone she won't fear, someone that won't fear her and push her away. Someone that won't hurt her in any way, like most of them maggots did. That's why she would get her revenge, it was not her fault...it was their own fault. They turned her into an abomination, the perfect world of light aborted her, never gave her a chance before dismissing her. Never gave her anything. She made her own paperboat and would play with it down below, in the gutter. She had papercuts, and a pet. A ragged lilac mouse with one yellow tooth called Dax. Dax was afraid of my dragons, but they were trained. They would only hurt someone on my command, I'd sometimes command them to hurt me...I enjoyed it. Their skin was rough and scaled, huge brown worn-out claws, sharp teeth and they always had to duck while inside the cave, because they were too tall to fit in it otherwise. There was ten of them, each one had countless little heads with myriads of white eyes piercing through the black air. As we just stood there looking at eachother, the uncomfortable silence got interrupted by a high pitch yell, then there was my monkey friend hanging down the ceiling, agitated. I would usually talk to it for hours, but now I was nervous enough, too nervous. I told my dragons to eat it and they did...
B. was oblivious. She layed down on the stone cold ground. After a minute, she crawled to the innermost corner of that room and after a long, painful reflection, she started telling me her story...