Her sighs travel in the darkness, like a migrating caravan travelling in the night.
The darkness hums, greeting the pilgrims as if they are a conquering army.
The darkness shudders, as if it needs a blanket.
She kills them in their sleep.
She likes it like that.
She likes it when they wake up at the right time.
She likes being in control.
My lady is still sleeping on her side, but I know this feeling.
It feels like I am being pinched and ripped apart, the pain only rising.
In relativity, it feels like a massage.
I can't help but smile as I sit still in the hut.
The simplest of super powers.
I wonder which witch I ran away from?
It doesn't matter.
They are all the same.
Until they choose not to be.
The sensations are stilling, yet unlike Heela, my lady knows the highest pleasures of the spirit, and will not be deceived.
She will not do it to herself.
