20260220 Ი𐑼 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝓽he smell of decaying cecilias
rancid, like rotting flesh, it fills your nose. are you afraid? hold your breath, make no sound, still your galloping heart. allow the gloved hand to caress your cheek. it’s gentle, isn’t it? don't turn away, don’t cry. watch, learn. he is the hunter, and you, my dear, are the hunted.
― "don't mistake the look in his eye for love, little one."


















