Silly little girl. You look at me in awe, amazed at my power over you now, thinking it to be something mystical or magical. Thinking it is about me. I let you go on thinking that, using your confusion to my own advantage. Understanding that you are content to submit to what you believe to be a greater power. But I have never been anything more than an opportunist, a most intent student of all that is you. I have observed you, studied you, dissected you and catalogued you. I have taken note of your every action and reaction. All those filthy little nothings I’ve whispered in your ears. Did you think I did not note which ones caused your breath to catch? Every inch of you that I’ve touched, and the pressure I applied to each spot. Did you think I did not keep track of those that caused you to tremble? All those sleepy wee hours that I stayed awake to let you pour your soul out to me. Did you think it was merely the comforting absolution of your lover? Did you not realize the confessions I elicited from you? The dreams, the needs, the desires you shared? You bared your darkest soul to me. And now all these pieces of you are mine. I know all those things that you are powerless to resist. I know what overwhelms you. I know what makes you wet and weak despite yourself. And I use them all to own you, to possess you, to control you. Exactly as you wished.

Mijn Ideale Persoon: Maybe it's you.