The whispering at my window—can you hear it?
She wants to tear me apart limb by limb until I'm skin 'n bones. In two separate piles, of course. Her claws are razor sharp; lethal to even the faintest touch. They're her only weapons other than the venom on her lips.
She's a monster, that girl. A filthy beast. And she wants me, wants me bad.
What am I to do? She wants to eat me—devour me. I know she will, too. It's the inevitable. I will be the next rotting corpse in her living room. Just another carcass without a soul. If you could even call it a "soul".
But maybe…maybe a part of me doesn't mind. Maybe a part of me wants to feel her scathing hands all over me, ripping me to shreds. Could you imagine the blood? The torrents and torrents of blood…
Blood is life, you know. If you really want to take all that "drink from the nectar of life" stuff seriously, you might as well start drinking blood. And not just drink it: bathe in it. Bathe in the blood of your victims—like the way the filthy beast does. Because even though she's a monster, she's also the most alive being on earth.
The whispering at my window is getting louder, now. It's almost time for me to go. I should be scared, but I don't feel anything at all. That beast, she knew. She knew I was already hollow and ready for the taking. It's all according to plan, for her. It was all meant to be.
I look at the window and see my reflection in the night.
The monster is here.