A girl with caramel eyes. That's all I know about her. She's a girl with caramel eyes. I wonder, vaguely, what shade of caramel: I murdered someone in a sweets factory once. There were so many different shades of caramel. Brown, dripping, honey sticky and sweet. Caramel is a wide field. I hope there is time to paly with her before she dies. That's the best part, playing with them. I want to watch her eyes widen as she watches me trace a knife around her throat. Maybe, if she's not a fat lump, I'll even kiss her. Not soft, gentle kissing: I will eat her face up, and feel her give in to me, submit to my desires. Perhaps she will think she can live another few months, years, decades, as my toy, slave.
But then I will kill her, in full satisfaction, knowing that she is just another girl.
Just another girl. I have been repeating that to myself so much. Just another girl. Perhaps it is a process of justification, but I rarely allow myself to submit to such weak and foolish... emotions. They want to escape, and I want to stop them; it's that simple. It's easier that way. I get my toys, and they get what they want. Not the girls, of course. Them. The Order.
I see her now, rounding the corner.
A girl with caramel eyes. Just anothe