And what I’ve discovered is that people—as a whole—are easily manipulated.
We yearn so desperately to make a connection, to know that we are not alone, that there is another in this world who feels what we feel. Who thinks how we think. Who accepts us wholly, unconditionally, and whom we can build companionship with so that we do not suffer this lonely existence in solitude, that we will do almost anything—anything—to avoid it.
When you understand that fundamental necessity, then it’s only a matter of pulling the right strings—the heartstrings.
The most difficult moment of my study was in realizing that I’m not above this human condition, this affliction. However, there is liberation in stripping ones self of all misconceptions and lies to find true self discovery. It’s a painful process, but then pain, as I’ve come to realize, is the purest method.
Most seek to ignore this yearning. They don’t want to admit they are weak, would rather live in denial and leach off others to feed their needs. It’s a selfish way to exist. And ultimately, we are a selfish species.
Why is it so difficult to admit our limitations, and in turn, strive to fulfill our desires? At any cost? Is there ever too high a price for absolute ecstasy?
After all, by doing so, we gain strength. He who controls his world commands the weak souls around him.
And every fucking one of them is weak.
I run the cane across Avery’s back, reveling in the tremble of her racked body. She’s hardly a weakling; so full of vibrant rebellion when she first arrived. But the beauty in understanding the human condition is in knowing how to break that character.
It’s all just a
matter of time and pressure. Much like with a rock. Water cascades over the rock, weathering away the stone, sending tiny fragments downstream as they break further apart. Just like that process, people can be eroded.
Leaning in close, I whisper, “Let’s give our Sadie a show, shall we?”
She flinches, making the chains above rattle. Even now, after hours of weathering her stone surface away, she still believes in the lie. That she is strong enough on her own to overcome any hardship.
She’s fighting against the current, her own nature, but she can only withstand so much force before she breaks. It’s just a matter of time and pressure.
I wrap my arms around her tenderly as I twirl her to face the camera. Giving her what she so stubbornly denies she needs: connection.
“We must keep the world updated,” I say, sliding the tip of the cane up her thigh. “Their utterly boring lives are invested in us. We should always please our audience. And Sadie needs this, even more than you do.”
Oh, Sadie needs it terribly. She’s like a diamond—hardest substance in the world. Chipping away Sadie’s stone surface will take far less time with the help of breaking Avery.
It will send my love to her knees…then right into my arms.
Where she belongs.
A smile pulls at my mouth as I raise the cane, and I can’t help but look directly into the camera lens. As if Sadie is watching me right now. Me. Her inevitability.
Avery’s feet kick, trying to find purchase to push her away. Her cries swell into a forlorn tune, reaching only my ears. I brace my arm, but her sweet screams fade into the background as I pick up on the newscast. Annoyed, I turn toward the overhead screen.
A reporter stands before the hospital, giving viewers an update on the Arlington Slasher case, as a woman is wheeled in through the front doors on a gurney. Unable to reveal the victim’s identity, the reporter does say the victim is a survivor of what’s believed to be a related attack connected to the spree of serial killings.
Red covers my vision. Pulsing, blinding. A pure bolt of anger fires through my veins, and white-hot fury scorches my blood. In a moment of uncontrollable rage, I release a roar, choking the room of sound. A crackle fills my ears, then a deafening ringing.
I feel something warm trickle over my knuckles. I look down, see the cane splintered and my blood dripping to the plastic-covered floor. Little dots of bright red, mocking me.
I crick my neck, turning to face my pet. Avery’s eyes—those orbs of chocolate brown—have become as pale as her ashen skin. Her fear tickles my senses, and I inhale the scent of urine. It streams down her leg.
That almost makes up for that amateur’s fuck-up. Almost.
As always, I think as I slink toward my shivering pet, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. Time’s run out. The tick tock of the clock just stopped for that one weak soul.
“Brace yourself, pet,” I whisper into her ear. “It’s time for your transformation into a Monarch.”
I smile into the camera as Avery’s screams drown my disappointment.
8