Men are not punished for their sins, but by them.
Why, oh why, must the words always lay so fitfully upon my tongue?It was beginning to become a problem. A deeply, dastardly, habitual problem that plagued her even in her dreams. She wanted something..but, that something was lost within the recesses of her mind.
She dreamed a little dream, but for whom was the question. She tossed and turned. She tangled the sheets until lean legs were trapped, and the feeling coaxed a sullen purr of rapture from her tongue. It was something enthralling, something that guided her to mischief, and gave her pause within her waking state of paranoia. Paranoia? Absolutely!! The “what” was more the issue than the “whom”. It was chaos, and she thrived within the vice like boundaries it provided.
A little secret garden that blossomed only for the devastation a shadow Man could bring…