The monster in my bed
- 114 páginas
- 4 horas de lectura
I only consume human hearts. I still recall how slippery the blood made my fingers feel and how it tickled my skin as it flowed down my neck the first time I sank my teeth into the still-warm muscle that I tore from the animal's chest. As I shouldn't exist in reality, I don't belong anyplace. I don't fit neatly into the categories that society loves to create.
