I have lost everything. My fortune was dashed upon my whims, and found itself wanting. I have bought a manor for her to clean and care for, as well as a labor contract for years to come with all the benefits a maid may need. Alas, it is all hers in name and deed, and I spend my days gazing at her working and slithering and humming and hissing.
She has begun nesting. It took her no time to realize the manor was masterless, in as much that a maid can be a mistress. She still cleans. She still hums, and still hisses at the errant thing that gazes at her behind windows.
I have a scale. I have a scale. I have a scale. Thank you thank you thank you! I can die and grovel and covet and yearn and yawn into nothingness. There is a gape she fills, and I must die for her to grow from its depths. If there is to be one beautiful existence in me, it is the knowledge I have given her everything, and left her my world. I squandered it in solitude. I squandered it! No gold nor warmth will be as precious as her sweeps against the ossified thoughts of my essence. All that was left was the truth that cowardice is my soul, and nary a word shall ever escape these lips, for they would never speak a word wonderful enough to make myself presentable to her. At the least it will reveal myself to her, and harbor greater horrors upon her than is imaginable. Yes. Silence is better. Death is better. Nothingness is better.
It is in my everthinking mind set upon her that will set me free from myself. For she shall be my last thought, and in setting it free upon my death, throw it into the endless sea of chaos, and thereby the depths will have a pearl. Snow white, and gleaming.
titsay
snowghoul
germansingergirl
origamiaround
gummygunk
theartofmadeline
janainaart
