Anya Annetsun
Diabolita
"When the Lord creates a beautiful woman, the devil creates a new account."
Ambrose Gwyneth Pierce
He stroked her, and she felt a luxurious shock of hair, while only a few layers of silky strands remained on her head, and in some places bald areas were visible. His fingers slid over her skin, and she felt hard, cold, silky skin while she was covered in cuts. She spent such nights with him, with her tormentor and teacher, the spy of her night dreams, those who introduced themselves to THEM.
There was no longer fear in her, she obsequiously looked into his eyes when he came, but she was still afraid of a terrible fate – to become a prisoner of terrible torture after death.
The hardest thing was not even to refuse these meetings – the hardest thing was not to believe.
When you fly into the abyss, and someone saves you, you begin to believe this person, or this POWER – to the end. And it all started some six years ago. Perhaps even earlier she had sensed his presence, but she still could not remember what it was like. It was like small jolts when some hitherto unknown force persuaded you to do otherwise. But six years ago he showed himself: his hand with incredible force penetrated into her stomach and turned everything upside down. All my life, then tantrums, fights, marginal antics, and finally, the hospital. No one could explain the reasons for her illusions and hallucinations. Although she knew it was real.
The sin of connecting with an unknown creature, which is probably the bearer of dark forces, haunted her, but HE promised to save her. And why did she need to be saved?
