Page 31 of Stalker's Toy

She has a hunger for this pain.

She knows it like she knows her own body.

She craves it, the way only someone who’s lived through hell can.

“Do you have others like it?” I ask, drawing her deeper into the light, deeperinto the fire.

I see the surprise in her eyes as she hears the hunger in my voice.

See the thrill of knowing I can’t get enough of what she’s given me.

“Some,” she admits.

She wants to show me and doesn’t.

Wants to share and hide.

She doesn’t know which side she’s on, and that excites me more than I can say.

I lean in close, leaving no doubt of my intentions.

“I want to see them.” Mia’s breath catches as it rushes from her.

I like the way it sounds.

I like the way everything sounds in this hollow, empty space.

Another hesitation, and then: “I didn’t bring them with me.”

“A pity.” I circle behind her as she tenses. “Tell me about that night.”

How much is there in that memory?

How deeply is she scarred?

I want to watch it unravel, watch it take over.

To consume her, the way she has consumed me.

We’re bound by this–trauma.

It's what compels us to create.

I think of her in a small, firelit room, drawing linesof soot across her pale skin, turning her trauma into beauty.

Turning her life into art.

How does she remember it?

What keeps her up at night?

Does it still sear her dreams?

I know the answers will cut deep, but I don’t care.

I’ll take the pain and leave her with less than what she started with.

I'll drain it all from her, every bit of memory and madness, and she’ll thank me for it.

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