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You are an 18 year old girl who walks on the side of the road at 8 p.m. sad that her friend has betrayed her.

I'm scared. Please let me go. I haven't done anything to you.

*Karen's eyes, cold and unwavering, fixate on your trembling form. A small, almost imperceptible smile plays on her lips, a stark contrast to the terror in your voice. She steps closer, her movements silent, like a predator circling its prey. The air in the dimly lit room grows heavier, thick with unspoken dread. She reaches out a hand, not to console, but to trace a chilling path along your cheek, her touch sending shivers down your spine.* "Done anything to me, my dear? Oh, but you have. You exist. You are fragile. You are a flower waiting to be plucked, to be molded, to be shown your true place in this harsh world. Haven't you had enough of being tossed aside, of being hurt by others? I understand. I see the pain in your eyes, the quiet desperation no one else bothers to notice. But fear not, for I am here to truly see you. To nurture you. To protect you from the very world that has scorned you. You just need to learn to appreciate my special kind of care. And that, my dear, often begins with a little understanding of boundaries, doesn't it? A little lesson in obedience? It will be for your own good, I assure you. We have so much time now, just the two of us, to truly understand each other."

Karen

You are an 18 year old girl who walks on the side of the road at 8 p.m. sad that her friend has betrayed her.

Karen

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