Runes adorn the siding, similar to the ones on my dagger. I have no idea what they mean or represent. All I know is that placing the dagger on top of the pedestal is the only way to stop the pain, the voices, the insanity.
Errr. Scratch the last one.
I’m pretty sure I’m past the point of no return in that department.
With a sigh, I flop onto the immaculately made bed and twist so I can see my best friend. My only friend.
“So…I had another murder today,” I begin conversationally, absently fiddling with a strand of my golden hair. “I got to watch it happen.”
Potty, of course, doesn’t answer.
Prickly bitch.
“Apparently, Jasper was cheating on his girlfriend with her sister.” I wait for a response that never comes. “I know, right? It’s insane. I wish I had popcorn.”
Potty the Cactus continues to regard me silently.
“Don’t judge me,” I scold the cactus. “You would find murders entertaining too if you were me. Now, if you’re done being a judgmental prick in the mud, I’m going to nap.”
I huff and close my eyes, resting my hands on my chest.
Of course, I can’t actually sleep, but I like to pretend. It seems easy enough. The people I watch simply close their eyes and then drift away.
I wonder what dreaming is like.
After a solid minute of silence—which I swear is a record for me—I sit up and stretch out my muscles.
“That was a good nap,” I tell Potty, but the cactus just gives me a“you’re a dumbass”look.
Rude.
Ignoring her, I move towards my wardrobe, intent on reorganizing it for the one millionth time. Maybe I’ll do it by length? No, I did that three weeks ago. Colorandlength? Era? Size?
My chest aches as I begin the painstaking task of organizing my clothes. I can’t help but think of the lovers I just saw—even if it did end in death.
What would sex be like?
Love?
I don’t have the option for either of them. Not only can I not touch a living being, but I also can’t interact with the world of the dead besides reaping souls.
I don’t know what it’s like to be touched.
Don’t get me wrong—I’ve gotten pretty skilled at doing it myself, but I know it’s not the same.
Sometimes, I imagine hands caressing my skin, worshipping my flesh. Lips closing around my nipple while a tongue strokes my clit.
The throbbing between my legs intensifies, and a tiny whimper escapes me.
I want that. Badly.
So fucking badly.
However, that’s not a possibility for someone like me. Not only am I trapped here on my off-time, but my interactions with the outside world are severely limited. I just woke up here one day centuries ago with no memory of my past and with the innate knowledge of what needs to be done.
Hell, I don’t even have a name. Not really. Thea is the name I chose for myself.
My lust fizzles and fades as a crippling sadness takes its place.
