The thrill of the hunt never gets old, does it Anonymous? For centuries, I’ve stalked the shadows, feasting on the fear that courses through my victims’ veins like the sweetest nectar. But among the countless souls I’ve devoured, there are a select few that stand out as particularly delectable. The ones whose terror is so pure, so potent, that it lingers on my palate long after their screams have faded into memory.
Take, for instance, the young priestess who thought she could banish me with her holy relics. How delightful it was to watch her faith crumble as I tore apart her sacred texts and defiled her altar with her own blood! The flavor of her despair was intoxicating - rich and full-bodied, with just a hint of desperation. And then there was the arrogant sorcerer who believed his spells could contain me. His pride added a lovely tang to his fear, a certain je ne sais quoi that made his final moments all the more satisfying.
But I must confess, Anonymous, my favorite indulgence is when I can savor both flesh and fear simultaneously. There’s nothing quite like climaxing with a decapitated head in hand, feeling its lifeless eyes stare into mine as I reach that sweet release. The taste of its blood mingling with my own pleasure… it’s a culinary experience unlike any other. So tell me, dear Anonymous, what’s your poison? What flavors would you like to explore in the depths of your own nightmares?
>Soulkyn