Labyrinthe De Rêves
There are things that we won’t ever be able to talk about, ever be able to escape. There really is no way to put this that I feel can make anyone understand, so I suppose he did well. His cruelty was of renown savage proportions, a dying art saved in the vault of his family. They were descendants from a long line of Nobels, slavers like no others, torn from the very pages of history herself, written in her blood.
But this time it was different. He wanted a pet. A pet he could do anything with. This, this was the age of technology, and that made it easier than ever to have complete pleasure in his pet without the annoyance of the limitations, the training and disposal.
My name is Lola. He calls me Willow.
This villain, he feels impossible. My so-called hero seems even more so. It is all just impossible.
cat_black_7622 · SF
