I can see her.

She's sleeping, so soundly.

So peacefully.

I draw nearer, as the air around myself coils and despairs.

There is no sound as i rip her clothes.

She's despairing, i can see it.

She's despairing, indeed she is.

The man next to her wakes up and starts to masturbate.

He's trash. I've made him, i know.

She's desperate. No power, no struggles.

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Hahaha.

She's angry.

I can feel it.

Her fury.

It feeds me.

With a thought the air shivers and she is bended, suspended in the air.

The man is muttering an old incantation, his eyes fixated on me.

Yes.

Pray for me.

Pray for the Fallen One.

I rejoice as the woman's fluids start to pour out of her chest.

A broken spine perforating her heart.

But why should i allow her to die?

I bind not her soul to her body, but pure pain still weaves on it.

Soon it breaks.

Soon she feels it.

I'm satisfyed as she moans and growns in pain, unable to recover.

Souless, bodyless, a piece of undying despair weavering in the ceiling.

It's almost as if she was my brethen, except she still has to be much more broken before becoming so.

I move through the cracks of the wind and leave her there.

There is no more guide spirit, there is no more favored fate.

All there is, is pain and despair.

I took it all from her.

No more friendly beings from another realms, no more pseudo-respectfull beings, full of spite as they fuck her soul.

Her whorish soul. Her deluted, poluted, used soul.

I took delusion from her.

And so now she faces despair and feeds me in anger.

You're welcome, woman.