You're not like the others. Your fantasies are not vaguely grey with a secret thrill, but velvety black and so cold they burn, the sort you must keep hidden away until you're alone. They frighten and control you, siphoning your free will until you give in, again. You'll give these fantasies anything to relieve the pressure that builds until you're sure you'll go up in flames, even tiny pieces of yourself. There's a darkness in you, and like calls to like, so here I am. But don't worry, darkling. We're in this together.