That bleak darkness, called death

"Blimey," I would have placed my palm on my chest had it not been for the fact my poor hands are tied.

"Are you feeling sympathetic for my sake?" He scoffed, "I don't need your sympathy. It happened long ago. I'm not affected by it anymore." 

"What happened to your father?" 

I ignored his words and went straight to the most important on my list, and that's to ask about his father.

"Why? I killed him." He smirked, "he was the first person I killed with my hands. Tortured the fool until he begged to die." 

I shiver at his words. It felt as if I'm the one he talked about. 

"Did you kill him?" 

Despite how goose bumpy his words made me, I need to know the end of the tale.

I can feel its end.

He laughed hysterically. "Of course, I did. I killed him, but I am merciful about that. I did kill him, but not before feeding parts of his body to him. He's a werewolf? He deserves some flesh as payment."