The circumstance is different, here. Gentler, wrapped in silk, not velvet.

No howling beasts at the door.

No dead gods rolling around and slobbering in his head.

No soldiers of love and horror with barrels pressed to his skull.

No disembodied, slithering hands embalming his body.


But you're present now, listening, right? Hello, I love you, says the author. Let's get through this together, okay?

Domestic horror.

Psychological bliss.


the narrative:

1. the hollow boy passed out on the universal bedspread

2. crossed out

3. t.b.d

further reading:

With apologies to thefriendlyvandal and LordStonefish. Hope this doesn't suck too bad.

rating: +8+x
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