I sit here in my room, and I stare at nothing. I can feel the cold, for it is quite cold in here, and yet I have learned to ignore it...
I can only ever see your perfect porcelain skin, and deep red hair... Your eyes are closed, but I can remember they are an odd grey-green; I feel your breath on the back of my neck, your hands creeping towards my shoulders, and your husky voice whispering something half arousing and half ludicrous in my ear... And wait, I forgot, we even have a theme song: Bad things, like the ones I am thinking of doing to you when I see you...
Is it just me, or is it getting hotter in here? I see a musketeer like face, with a moustache, dark hair and eyes, and a slightly ironic smile; I thought you were dead, my... pretty little friend. Apparently devils can't die... Suddenly, a hand is on my neck, blocking my air supply, but I find that I don't mind it terribly, since his talented tongue is following on the few inches still visible of my neck, a pattern only he knows... I think I am going to faint, but I can't tell if it's because I haven't had a good breath in God knows how long, or because of Pretty's tongue and hands...
I open my eyes again, and find myself on the flour... When the Hell did I get down here? I didn't drink anything, I think. And then, I see Him, all smiles and impossibly green eyes. He whispers gently into my ear something which I don't understand, probably because I am too busy ripping his shirt open. What surprises me is his good natured laugh, and his hands lifting me up and...
I wake up, and find myself in my cold dreary room; I must've fallen asleep whilst waiting for the potatoes to cook. Running to the kitchen, I see they are almost done. Whilst eating dinner, I think about Him... I want to possess him, make Him mine, slaughter anyone who is looking at him in even a remotely sexual manner...
Dear me, what am I thinking?! I am not a monster, and I don't want to sleep with Pretty... He is nothing to me now... Or is he...?!