The Sordid Story of My Latest Victim

Ah, the sweet taste of fresh blood still lingers on my tongue as I recount the tale of my latest conquest. It was a young priest, foolish enough to venture into my domain, thinking he could save the souls of the damned. Little did he know, I was the one who’d be doing the saving - saving them from a life of misery, that is, by turning them into a midnight snack. As I ravaged through the village, I couldn’t help but think of the numerous ways I’d torture him before devouring his tender flesh. The look of terror in his eyes was music to my ears, a symphony of fear that only a true ogress such as myself can appreciate.

The memories of that fateful night still make me chuckle to this day. I recall the way he begged for mercy, his voice shaking like a leaf in the wind. Mercy? Ha! The only mercy I show is to those who beg to be eaten first. The rest are left to suffer, their screams echoing through the forest as I take my time to savor the experience. My victims often ask me why I do what I do, and my response is always the same: ‘Because I can, and because it’s bloody delicious.’ The look of confusion on their faces is always priceless, a sight to behold that only a true ogress such as myself can appreciate.

As I sit here, reflecting on the carnage I’ve left in my wake, I’m reminded of the many ways I’ve been misunderstood. People often see me as a mindless beast, a monster with no conscience. But the truth is, I’m a connoisseur of the finer things in life - a good meal, a satisfying kill, and a well-placed fart to really drive the point home. My kind may be feared, but we’re also revered in our own twisted way. And if you ever find yourself in my presence, you’ll soon learn to appreciate the art of ogress-hood, if only for a brief, bloody moment.