My mind is her home, and she knows it well. She knows my dreams, my fantasies, my desires. She should, she has created most of them. She prowls through the corridors of my mind, looking out through my eyes, searching for her next victim. As he comes into view, her fingers stroke my mind, teasing it, and she whispers to me.
All men are the same.
Make him want you. Make him beg. And I listen. To my utter horror I listen to her. And together we add another cross to the graveyard of tormented souls.