Page 88 of Shadows in Bloom

Despite the fact I hate her so much sometimes, it sickens me something fierce.

But most of all?

I’m sorry I was stupid and naive enough to think I’d have her forever.

The piercing whine—no, screeching in my brain grows impossibly louder, sharper. So sharp, I swear I feel sticky wetness trickling out from my ears. Taste iron on my tongue.

Then, faster than I can blink…

The world flips on its axis.

One second I’m on my back, feeling like I’m literally dying.

And the next thing I know, I’m looking down on a sleeping Winifred in a bedroom I haven’t been in in years.

Somehow over the agonizing clamor of whines and screeches, a wicked chuckle wraps itself around my senses. Slithering words weaving through the cacophony. “So that’ssss what hidessss beneath that frumpy sssssweater.”

A shadowy tendril worms down from where I hover over Winifred to tug at the collar of her low-cut nightgown.

It’s white. Thin. Not quite silk, but soft-looking enough that it probably feels like heaven sliding over her creamy skin. It leaves practically nothing left to the imagination, and much to my horror, despite the fear and pain consuming me, my mouth dries, my pussy clenches. Hunger, like nothing I’ve ever felt before, gnawing at my insides with such ferocity, I ache.

Deeply.

The kind of ache that hollows me out, carving a human shaped emptiness that extends from my skull to my fingers to my toes.

Nothing but my need for Winifred exists.

My blood, my bones, my organs…

Gone.

There is only famine.

A low satisfied hum reverberates against my ear, and I’d shudder if I could. “I feel that. Sssssmell it.”

Oh God.

Deep down, logically, I know that if this isn’t a dream… it’s her doing this. Producing this feeling. Intensifying my emotions, heightening the desires I’ve done so well shoving under the surface when I’m awake to an unbearable degree.

Beneath me, Winifred rolls her head to the side, long, wispy brown hair fanned across the pillow. Thrusting her chest out, she moans with a light sleepy smack of her lips.

“She’s perfect like thissss, is she not? So soft, so relaxed, so defenselesssss… Perfectly, delicioussssly ripe for the taking…”

No!

Bow-shaped lips parted, eyes fluttering, Winifred sighs contentedly in her sleep. While I have no choice but to watch with crippling horror as the shadowy tendril tugs down her nightgown, exposing the creamy swell of a breast, inch by inch, until a rosy peeked nipple is revealed.

Inside my body, I shake my head, thrash against the force keeping me under.

This isn’t a dream.

The realization has ragged pleas wrenching from my throat, muffled by my tightly sealed lips as I watch the blanket go next—shoved down her body—revealing long, slim legs twisting along the sheets, thighs grinding against each other.

Her nightgown is rucked up next, bunched around her waist, so that only the pale pink triangle of her cotton panties peeking out from between her writhing lower half is all that separates my eyes from her most private of parts.

I choke on a whimper, my heart racing as the shadows begin lowering me on top of her, putting me flush against her, chest to chest, hips to hips. Every pliant inch of her molding to every pliant inch of me. Inches I can feel…

Winnie…

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