I am no man-eater like him, I am a soul-crusher. A love-hunter. I don't kill them, I make them kill themselves. Out of desperation, frustration. I let their egos climax until I strip it away completely. They bleed silently and I never look back once the bullet is shot.
If I were a man-eater like you, I wouldn't bother to get to know my next victim. Their desires, wishes, because you wouldn't care. The only thing you care about is the blood going through their veins, the warm flesh you could grip and twist. Turn their flesh to stone, turn red to blue. You would watch that innocent lamb strip completely, exposing their bare body for your pleasure. For YOUR pleasure. You only care about yourself! But I am not surprised. I know you very well, but I am not you. I could never be, because if I were ever like you, death would hold my hand and carry me in the depths of hell. That is the only place you deserve to be.
In conclusion: I wish death upon you, my love.
