After her nightmare earlier and having met Hedwig, the boy- if she could even call him that- Casey found she could not drift off to sleep again. Her mind wouldn't allow her to, like it had for a brief while last time. She found all she could do was sit there on the spongy mattress of the cot pushed closest to the wall, frozen, facing the door in case he came in again, in whatever form it was he was going to take next; Either the Dennis man, the English woman, or the boy Hedwig.

All she could do was sit there, hoodie of her jacket draped over her neck, legs up to her chest protectively and arms draped around her stomach, drained both emotionally and physically, while she thought.

It was gradually starting to make some reasonable amount of sense now.

He must have Disocciative Identity Disorder. She'd heard of that condition while doing research into mental illnesses and psychological conditions once on a project at school. She thought she'd read somewhere that it was a somewhat rare disorder, brought on by a horrific state of trauma or abuse. That different personalities form, a sort of coping mechanism.

Was that what this guy had? Was this why he appeared to be the austere 'Dennis' one instance, then... the English lady and then... 'Hedwig', the nine year old boy?

Her stomach rumbled, interrupting her frantic thoughts. Casey hadn't felt such hunger before, couldn't even remember the last time she had eaten anything. She gnawed on her bottom lip with her teeth as she brought her arms down, squeezing tighter into her stomach to comfort herself from the unbearable hunger she felt.

Maybe this was this guys intentions for her? To make her starve? Not that she could really bring herself to care. To be honest, she couldn't exactly... care about anything right then. Her head was just filled with multiple questions about this guy, about him having this condition.

She knew all about pretending to be someone else, of course, the feeling of physically removing oneself from the body, of drifting off somewhere else, not being completely there. She'd felt she'd done that as a girl; Sometimes, when her Uncle John did what he did, she'd feel herself physically float off... like she was there, but she wasn't. Like she was there in body, while he touched her, did all his grotesque things to violate her, but... she was also somewhere else too. Somewhere safer, somewhere that he couldn't reach her mentally.

It was probably different than how it was for him, this guy. But imagine living like that, everyday? Casey couldn't even begin to imagine it, even although her own life was lousy enough.

His life must have sucked, in a different way compared to how hers did. Casey felt a strange sense of sadness for life he must live, even although her brain told her it was probably stupid of her to. Why feel pity and some sense of sadness for the guy that was doing this to her?

Her stomach growled and vibrated again furiously. She needed food. She needed to eat something so badly, and if only 'Hedwig' had stayed a little longer; She had been that close to convincing him, even if he did say it was the 'Dennis' guy and others who mainly dealt with the food.

...

Dennis was given the Light, and he found himself sitting at the kitchen table in the chair.

Patricia was hell-bent on him giving the girl a scolding due to what she'd said to Hedwig, in giving him false hope that they could become friends when, realistically, she was not there for that, that were no her purpose. She was just food, a means to an end. A pretty piece of food, he had to give her that. But food none the less.

She would not matter in the end.

Dennis always got sent to do the heavy work; Protecting them all, righting other people's wrongs when they treated Kevin badly. Making sure everything was spotless, that there would be no unpleasant repercussions. He'd done all the meticulous planning, all the dirty work in getting the Impure girl ready so that, once He finally come, everything they had planned would come to fruition.

And now it was his duty to go scold the girl for putting the naive thought into Hedwig's head that they could ever be best friends- or something even remotely close to that. It was typical of Hedwig to believe the girl so quickly. He was just a child, after all. He had no sense, and the girl... she took advantage of that. It wasn't very nice of her.

He checked his watch, glancing down at the time from where it was strapped around his wrist. It was 8.50 in the evening.

While it may be late, a job was still a job. He rose from the chair dutifully while shoving his pair of glasses on.

Time to get down to business.

...

Casey's body jerked the instance she heard the lock on the door click open.

Her stomach twisted, her heart increasing in rate as she stared at the doorknob. It shook as it was grasped onto from the other side of the door.

He was out there. And now, he was coming in.

She knew who it was the instance she saw the yellow handkerchief wrapped and covering around the doorknob in order to stop his bare skin from touching it. He pushed it all the way open, moving in to stand in the middle of the room barely a meter away from her with a stride that seemed determined and purposeful.

Whatever the reason for his return into the cage that he held her captive in, it was obviously something he felt important and necessary.

Still, Casey felt the dread trickle into her heart as she immediately lifted her gaze to his face while she observed the way he hastily folded that handkerchief of his up. Casey wasn't sure if she was seeing things or not, but it appeared like his fingers were shaking a little while he did it.

At once, his cold dead blue eyes met hers through the lenses of his glasses, that sour eyebrow-puckered look gracing his features as he peered down at where she was, huddled in the corner trying to make herself small, on the cot bed.

Like always, she felt unnerved beneath his gaze. It took her everything she was worth not to shudder as he remained silent for a few beats, just staring down at her. Her Uncle John unnerved her, but it was... unlike the unnerving feelings this man 'Dennis' brought out of her. He made her feel as if little invisible spiders were crawling all over her skin but she tried her very hardest not to let her unease show through in her expression.

She stared and he stared back.

And then he breathed and sniffed in deeply through his nose, his jaw settling a little as if he were mentally prepping himself for something that was in store for her, she thought.

When he spoke, Casey could do nothing but listen attentively to his words. "Patricia just asked me to come in here to have a, uh, word with you." There was something foreboding, something menacing in his voice, almost like he was telling her off for something Casey hadn't known she'd done, "Apparently you were misleading and teasing the child."

Casey's brow furrowed at his words as her head whirled. She'd mislead and teased the child? As in... the boy Hedwig? She thought her actions and the way she interacted with the boy over inside her mind, coming up blank. She hadn't thought she had been teasing the boy at all, had she?

Although... her heart froze up and seized a little in panic at what she had tried to do. She may have subtly been trying to get the 'boy' to lead her out of the room so that she could perhaps have a better look at her surroundings. She'd also tried to talk him into getting her some food, but that was only because she was genuinely, truthfully hungry. She hadn't done anything too wrong, had she?

"You made him think that you were gonna, uh, be something of a friend to him, and we can't have that." She watched nervously as 'Dennis' paused for a moment to close his eyes. Then his lips parted a fraction as he drew a deep, steady breath into his lungs, like he was calming himself from getting too mad at her. When he brought his eyes open, the reproachful look he gave her, eyes squinted, corners of his mouth pulled downward, it almost made Casey want to shy away. Like an adult chiding a child, her being the child. "You shouldn't make fun of children and play on their naivety. It isn't very nice."

Fire burned in her gut, and an urge to speak up, to defend herself gently came to light, "B-but I-I wasn't-" she muttered feebly, then trailed off apprehensively when she realized pleading her innocence was a lost cause.

The man was obviously determined to believe otherwise. "Yes, you were," he spoke with an unshakable amount of confidence. He didn't even need to raise his voice. "But don't worry, you'll get your dues in the end, you'll see."

Get her dues in the end? A jolt of fear prickled up her spine at how freaky he made that sound.

"You won't poke fun in the end. Not once He gets here."

There he was at it again, with the cryptic comments. Just like in the car, about her needing to be clean when they 'present her'. Casey was fairly certain he was speaking of the mysterious other person again, but it still didn't make sense to her.

She was still physically cringing inside over his stern words when suddenly, 'Dennis' licked his lips, wetting them with his tongue as his blue eyes darting down towards the lower half of her body. He must have seen something about the way she was positioned with her body on the bed that he didn't like, because she heard him give out an exasperated sigh heavily through his mouth as he shook his head.

"What did I tell you about your shoes, huh?" he muttered gruffly, and as Casey bent her neck to glance down at the way she had her body, she realized then.

Oh. He hadn't liked it when she'd put her sneakers on the bed before. Now, there she was, doing it again...

"Do you realize how dirty shoes are?"

Immediately, Casey swung herself onto her side and pushed her legs off the bed, letting her Converse shoes hit the ground loudly in order to hopefully placate him as it had earlier. Apparently it was only just wishful thinking.

He shook his head again, that sour-sucking-on-a-lemon stare for her in place, "Do you realize how much filth and muck there is on the sidewalks?" He stared down at her shoes again pointedly. "You put your feet on the sheets, the sheets may as well be the sidewalk, teaming with bacteria and all that dirt and filth."

Casey wasn't sure whether he was deliberately making a point out of it so that she'd act remorseful, but she did anyway, dropping her chin a little, strands of her hair falling over her ears, "I-I'm sorry, I forgot..."

"You know what?" A new glint came in his eyes that made her stomach churn. "Remove them."

"W-what?" She'd overheard him, surely. She didn't want to give him her shoes. She needed them. "Remove m-my shoes?"

"Yeah, your shoes. Take them off." He gestured with a jerk of his head impatiently to her Converses. "Please," he then added, as if a polite afterthought.

Still, Casey didn't want to, but she realized she didn't exactly have any other choice. He watched her, expectant and waiting while he stood there.

He was the one in charge here, he was the one making the orders while he had her in here, wasn't he? She knew it was always better to comply rather than give any reason to be yelled or struck at so, twisting to the edge of the bed, she reached down, untying her shoe laces. All the while, she could feel his gaze burning into her as he watched every movement she did to take off her shoes. Casey thought she even heard him panting a little.

She bent down half off the bed to pick her shoe off once the laces were completely undone, her dark hair fell and swept in her face, obscuring her vision of him, and then-

He'd moved quickly. She gasped, flinching back automatically when suddenly, he was standing directly in front of her, over her, bent at the knees, arm outstretched. It took her a second later to realize he was simply bending down, reaching to take her shoes from her, fingers outstretched. But she hadn't been prepared for the man's imposing closeness.

Of course he wouldn't kneel completely down on his knees to grab her shoes despite his height. Like he'd want even his clean trousers to touch what he probably considered a germy floor. Still, she wasn't prepared for it, and she jerked back, her dark eyes flying up to meet his nervously as she swallowed.

Apparently he could read her nerves, because he held his hand up higher to her, fingers still outstretched, "Just getting your shoes," he murmured roughly, like he could tell he'd startled her. "I'm not gonna touch you, I just... uh..." He trailed off into a deep mumble as he reached down to grab her sneaker while waiting for the other one.

She kicked the other one off just as quickly, watching as he bent to grab that one. He held both her Converse sneakers in one hand with hooked fingers through the sides, holding them a hair's length away from his body as if they were contaminated with something that might spread if he dare let them touch the material of his clothes.

She met his eyes again anxiously while feeling oddly exposed with no shoes on. She hadn't worn socks to school that day, and her feet were now bare. He obviously noticed it too, because she saw his head cock to the side while his eyes swept over the sight of her black-polish coated toenails.

And then her stomach made a noise again, grumbling through the disturbing silence between her and the 'Dennis' man rudely.

His reaction to the sound was strange. He pursed his lips together tightly and clenched his eyes shut momentarily while using his free hand, raising his arm and sweeping his palm and fingers over his forehead several times while his other hand still held her Converses away from him like they were diseased.

"Of course," she thought she heard him grumble several times, although Casey wasn't sure if he was speaking to her or not. "Of course, you, uh... you must be hungry. I forgot about the food."

He shook his head and clapped his palm to his forehead a few times, as if berating himself over forgetting to give her food. Then, as 'Dennis' slowly reopened his eyes, she saw him glance away from her, down at her bare toes again while stepping back a few paces.

"We'll, uh, we'll get that sorted right away. Get off the bed and follow me."

Casey felt a surge of hope at his words. Get off the bed and follow him? Was he actually going to let her come out of the room, her cage?

She hesitated, biting down on her lip with not wanting to get her hopes up too much. But then he backed away even more, making a gesture with his arms for her to follow. The floor was colder than what she was expecting as she let her bare feet and toes touch it, but she pushed that discomfort aside.

She was finally getting some food.

She stood from the cot bed, her legs a little shaky. Then she followed slowly as he turned his back on her and led the way through the door.

Casey's eyes immediately swept her surroundings, searching for something, anything. Outside her cage, was another room, with another closed door. This room had an old computer on a desk and chair, among other things. She noticed a clothes rack with various articles of clothing on it.

She brought her eyes back to 'Dennis' warily from where he stood, at the door, his back turned on her, shoulders stiff. She caught him reach into his pocket, and he pulled out a set of keys. He unlocked the door with a key and then they went through the door to what opened up to be a dank, narrow hallway. The ceiling looked slightly rotten and moldy above them.

He dumped her Converse shoes on the ground loudly, then turned towards her, maybe to check and see what she was staring at. Hastily, Casey turned her head back so that their eyes immediately met, an ache of fear building in her chest. She didn't want him to catch her being too nosy in looking around, because then he'd notice her intentions of having a good inspection of her surroundings for anything she could use, any potential escape points when the time came later on if need be.

"The kitchen's just down here to your right," he murmured, and she noticed him blink heavily at her through the glasses a few times. "We go straight through that doorway." He made a vague gesture with his arm, beckoning for her to follow him along again.

Casey did, her bare feet slapping gently against the hard cold floor.

He stood back up against the wall and waited for her while Casey inched closer towards the entryway to the right, like he'd said. She glanced around cautiously before entering. It seemed, as he'd said, a little kitchen area. There was a refrigerator and sink. A small table and chairs.

She almost jumped out of her skin when he abruptly walked in, yanking a chair out from the table loudly. The legs screeched against the floor harshly as he stepped back to look at her. "Please, sit."

She complied and did what he said at once, using his distraction of opening the refrigerator in order to get her some food to her advantage. What little she had seen so far of where he was holding her it looked... unwelcoming. Yet chaotic and confusing, all the decorations. As if there truly were multiple people fighting for space in the kitchen.

"We don't get many visitors and we've never had somebody like you here before," the 'Dennis' man spoke, back still turned to her as he reached into the refrigerator for something.

Somebody like her? Meaning what?

"You're our first so, uh, it's still a little... new." She was the first? The first girl he had held here like this? Casey shivered anxiously while she brought her arms up, covering them over her chest, comforting herself a little. The way he spoke of it, it made her feel like while she was the first, she wouldn't be the last.

He was intending to do this to more girls. Of that she was sure judging by how he said it.

"This is something I prepared a little earlier, it's all mostly fresh," he went on, shutting the fridge. Casey glanced up in time to see him placing a plate of what looked like salad on the table next to her. It was still sealed in plastic for freshness, which he hastily unwrapped and discarded of, shoving the plate closer to her. Casey noticed his hands were trembling again, almost like he was nervous or felt under pressure in having her in the kitchen. "I'll, uh, I'll get you some water and cutlery."

He moved, pouring her a glass of water. Then he placed it down next to her elbow and set down a knife and fork for her. The knife and fork were made of plastic, she couldn't help noticing, nothing sharp that she could potentially use if she had the mind to.

"Eat," he grumbled, like an order, and then he pulled open the chair opposite her and sat down at the table himself.

Although starving, Casey found eating in front of the man nerve-wracking. He didn't get himself anything to eat, she noticed. He simply sat there, waiting for her to pick up her cutlery and start eating. Eating in front of the man that had done this to her and while he was probably going to watch... it didn't make her feel very comfortable.

Casey glanced his way quickly, her suspicions confirmed as his eyes met hers. He was sitting there stiffly in the chair, shoulders back, head straight. Great. So he was going to watch her eat.

"Aren't you, um, eating anything as well?" she forced herself to ask as she made herself reach slowly for the plastic cutlery near the plate. Her voice sounded too hoarse, too unsteady. She sounded just as creeped out as she felt; but she couldn't help it.

The space between his brows formed a crease. "No, I, uh, already ate earlier."

It looked like she was going to have to endure him staring at her while she ate, so she grabbed her cutlery in both hands, leaning down towards the food in the plate. She noticed her own hands were trembling as she tried to slice a piece of tomato with the blunt knife.

It was excruciating, the amount of time that passed as she ate. Casey was sure she was being rude by stuffing food into her mouth so fast, only she couldn't bring herself to care. She was starving, damn it. She tried to mentally block out the man sitting opposite her by eyeing the kitchen while she chewed, but it was hard, hard not to feel his gaze on her, analyzing her as she ate the food he had given her.

After what seemed ages, he at last stood slowly from the chair, turning away from her. Casey felt her shoulders physically sag in relief as his obtrusive stare left her and she waited until his back and head were turned to her before she crammed the last bit of tomato into her mouth hastily.

She heard a faint noise, like a kitchen drawer opening as she chewed. And then-

Casey glanced up mid-chew as the 'Dennis' man turned to face her again, and what she saw there, held in his right hand... she tensed and nearly choked as she swallowed the last mouthful of food down. Scissors. He was holding a pair of scissors. He was staring at her, and Casey got the extremely unnerving feeling that he intended to use the scissors on her. But to do what?

"I-I've finished the food now," she made herself speak, her voice high-pitched with nerves, with fear of the unknown. "T-thank you."

Eyes on hers the whole time, the Dennis man stepped closer towards where she sat at the table, scissors still in his hand. The way he moved, with slow, exaggerated steps, it made her feel like she were the deer about to be pounced on by the predator. Her eyes fell towards the scissors again meaningfully as she prayed to herself, pleaded even to him in her own mind, not that he could have heard her, that what he intended to do with them wasn't too painful. Was he going to kill her now? Stab her with the scissors? Had he given her the very last meal of her life, and now he was intending to put an end to her?

She could hear him breathing heavily the closer he got towards where she sat, frozen, at the table. There was a determination there in his eyes, a hard glint to them.

Casey remembered how it would always happen, before, with her Uncle. In those moments, just beforehand, it was always best to remain silent and still, where you were. To remain silent, to let whatever happen... happen. Because fighting, running, showing anything, it was pointless. It would only cause pain. And maybe she wasn't so frightened of the idea of dying anyway?

Casey lifted her gaze, keeping her dark eyes on his, as he approached her chair. She forced herself to not look away, to keep her gaze on his, even when he came to stand so close that all he would have to do is lift his arm and then... stab. Stab her with the scissors.

Silent fear made her throat tighten, and she could feel her blood thrumming in her ears loudly as she tipped her chin a fraction higher in order to remain looking him head-on.

Standing above her while standing and she were seated, she saw his black-rimmed gaze move over her, taking all of her face in and the strands of her hair. His jaw was clenched, the corners of his lis pulled downward. There was something there in his eyes- something she couldn't properly understand flickered in them at how she was staring back at him. Perhaps her defiant stare unnerved him? Casey couldn't tell, but she was determined to look into the man's eyes, even if it were the very last thing she saw as she died.

But then, he spoke, the words low, barely audible, "I'm just gonna..." Then he did it.

Casey's eyes recoiled closed when he reached out towards her face, with no warning. She felt his fingers close over and grasp a strand of her hair, but not roughly, not brutally like he wanted to hurt her.

She swallowed against a dry lump at the back of her throat as she reopened her eyes and watched. Watched as the 'Dennis' man breathed deeply through parted lips, exhaling raggedly like he were nervous while his fingers touched her hair. Then she caught a glint of the metal sheen to the scissors, and he was guiding it towards her face, and then...

SNIP.

He cut a strand of her hair, a thick enough strand. Casey watched as the 'Dennis' man sighed again shakily, his gaze dropping to the chunky strands of her hair he had cut with the scissors. Her hair lay in his hand, and he rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, as if enjoying the feel of it, the texture.

The sheer relief that overcame her, that she were not dead or stabbed... it rattled her to the core.

He'd just wanted to snip off a lock of her hair. He'd just wanted to cut a strand of her hair, not stab her.

Casey crumbled, even although she was trying her hardest to remain strong. Her eyes were on him, watching stunned, as he continued rubbing the lock of hair between his thumb and forefinger absently. Then her vision became blurred and she knew she had failed to keep her composure then. A gasp tore out of her mouth as she felt the tears of relief cling to her lashes, her shoulders trembling.

...

He was weak. So, so weak. And pathetic.

He'd sat there, watching her while she ate chewing slowly, her shoulders sort of hunched in on themselves in a timid, cautious way. At first, he'd just been watching her, millions of thoughts running by in his head, like, why did she wear so many layers of clothing? There was the jacket she'd had on, and he was fairly certain she had a couple of long-sleeved shirts on beneath it. What's with all the clothes?

Then he'd noticed how her hair shimmered in the kitchen light, and he'd been weak and couldn't resist himself. He wanted to touch her hair again, to stroke it like he had when she'd been unconscious, but... he couldn't just reach over while she were eating, could he?

That's when the idea struck him. There was a pair of scissors in the kitchen drawer. Patricia wouldn't have to know. He was in the Light right now, after all. All the others, they were asleep, blind.

He just wanted a little piece of her, just something to remember her by, something real, something he could smell and touch. Something he could stroke a little. Patricia wouldn't ever need to know, it was no big deal.

Just one little small bit of her, then... The Beast, once He emerged, he could have the rest of her.

It was no real big deal, in the big scheme of things, right?

That way, he was still being good. Even if Patricia did somehow find out what he had done, in cutting a little of her hair to keep, even she couldn't deny he hadn't broken any serious rules, he were still keeping himself under control.

Even as he'd gotten the scissors out and turned to her, the way she'd met his eyes with her doe-like ones, the unspoken fear and trepidation in them... He'd told himself stop it, no, no, don't do it, don't you do it, but he was too weak and he couldn't resist.

It felt worth it in the end to Dennis though, as he finally held the piece of her hair in his hand. It felt just as he had remembered, possibly even better. And the joy that burst through him, the sheer marvel he felt at touching the strands of her hair that he had cut off... He'd never properly had something of a young woman's to own before. He'd never really touched a woman's hair or experienced the joy of getting to stroke it, whenever he pleased. And her hair was so soft, so smooth as he rubbed into it with his thumb.

He'd gotten sidetracked in his own moment of weakness, touching it, wrapped up in it. But then-

He heard the shaky noise she'd made, and he glanced up to find her looking so vulnerable, yet so relieved. Her lower lip was trembling and there were tears clinging to her eyelashes. She was crying, and he'd made her cry in his moment of weakness. And if Patricia knew, she'd be so lethally mad at him.

The cut strands of her hair that he held and stroked burned and weighed heavily down on his conscience then. He felt suddenly sick and guilty as he noticed a tear slide down her cheek. Of course she'd be afraid of him, of course she'd feel disgusting that he'd violated her by cutting a piece of her hair off for himself. Why wouldn't she?

Dennis sighed loudly as he forced his eyes shut, the shame making his face glow hot. He felt a sudden desperate urge to explain himself, to make it clear on her.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," he croaked out before he could even make sense of just what he was telling her. "I had a moment of weakness, but... I promise you it won't happen again. I'll be good from this point forward."

He brought his eyes open to peer down at her, to see if he was making any sense to her or not. He found himself regretting looking at her then, because the shame, it simply burned even bitter and brighter in his gut, making him feel sickened with himself.

She was staring at him still from where she sat, at the kitchen table, her used cutlery and empty plate in front of her. The nerve she had to stare right up at him, with her dark eyes, how there was no disgust in them, merely... what? Curiosity? Sympathy even? It didn't sit right with him, she was too attractive for her own good, even with the tears clinging to her long eyelashes, the track marks of wetness on her cheeks. If the girl had looked disgusted, it would have made it so much easier for him.

He shied away from her stare because, it was too much, all so too much. Too easy to be bad, so hard to be good. She made it so hard.

He licked his lips while readjusting his glasses. Then he brought his hand up, rubbing the back of his neck, torn. He felt so torn, so conflicted. He knew what was right- he couldn't touch her, shouldn't want to touch her or find her attractive. She was not for him, as Patricia often reminded before. She was for Him when He emerged, his sacred food.

She knew nothing of true suffering, she was so naive. She didn't know anything about the realities of life, all of its miseries, the girl knew nothing. She was for Him, that's all. A sacrifice for him. He'd met the Beast once before, as had Patricia, but they just needed time, until He fully emerged. That was her purpose.

She was food to satisfy the Beast once his time come, she wasn't something for him to ogle or touch, no matter how much he felt he wanted to.

Gritting his teeth, Dennis glanced down at the girl again while straightening his shoulders. He had to get this little thing under control now. And what better way, than enlightening her to the truth?

He moved and sat back down in the chair he had previously occupied, keeping the hand that clenched her hair in his lap while he stroked it with his fingers. She watched his movement with her eyes, that shame hitting him again. But once he made it clear to her, he was fairly confident she'd understand. Not to mention, it would reassert her purpose- remind him of why she was there.

"I suppose there's no reason not to let you know at this point," he began, clearing his throat hoarsely. "But you are here for someone, and He's coming very soon." He saw the confusion and wariness shine in the girl's eyes. "You're going to be staying in that room that you were in, until He emerges. You will be his sacred food, his... offering, if you will."

She looked eager, yet somewhat frightened and wary by what he was telling her. He felt that urge again, that urge to stroke her hair... and luckily, he could. He was. He ran this thumb down the silky strands in his hand.

"His name is The Beast. And he's coming for you." Dennis was aware that his voice had risen, that it had gotten a little unsteady in all his eagerness to explain it for her. "When he finally comes for you, he'll feed on all your unbroken flesh, your sheltered mind." He was impassioned, loud with his confession. "You will be one of the very first ones presented with the true privilege of meeting Him."