Cold pleasure

My mom always told me I'm special. She said with a smile
fixed on her lips gently stroking my face, causing me to believe in her words.

"You're like the flower that grows in the storm."
She said. "Beautiful and delicate".

And every time she told me I was beautiful, I fell in love
more with myself. How could I not? I was beautiful, perfect, that taken pinup
with every man dreams to conquer.

Conquer ...

Ha!

As if that were possible with me. I'm beautiful and very
intelligent, which others are not. The trick to getting the world, is to give
others believe that you swallow the lies they tell you. Play the role of
submissive, when in reality, those who fall into your trap they are.

As my mother said, I am the flower that grows in the storm,
in the trash, in this disgust street.

My plan is to use my beauty to have the life I want. The
life that I deserve. The life that has to be mine by all costs. But for that I
must be patient and smart, studying every step I should take to catch my crown.
Having slaves at my feet, stepping on my heels to remove the last drop of what
they have. Live and die for me.

That's what I deserve, the world and all its luxuries.