5. Fiadh

Fiadh

I think about what Hunter said. Things he practices in real life. What does he mean by that? Is he into domination, control? Does he want to blindfold me? Make my darkest desires come true? The thought of him dominating me and taking control of my pleasure makes a molten pressure pool deep in my stomach. I should feel disgusted by thinking these things about a man I just met, but I don’t. I had enjoyed the few times Daire and I explored him being dominant in bed.

Guilt hits me like a bat to the head. How could I possibly think about another man six months after my husband passed? Grief sinks to the bottom of my stomach, no matter how hard I try to avoid it. I take my nightly sleeping pill as the devil on my shoulder plays the advocate. I shouldn’t feel guilty about having an interest in Hunter. Granda was right. I’m too young to spend the rest of my life mourning. Daire wouldn’t want me to be all alone. My mind’s restless thoughts fall to the wayside as the pill kicks in, carrying me into a deep sleep.

* * *

A smooth, cold hand caresses my face. My eyes flutter open, and I see a pair of forest green eyes.

“Hunter?” I ask. “What are you doing here?”

This has to be some kind of dream. How could he possibly be in my room? His thumb traces my lower lip as he smirks down at me. He sits on the edge of my bed, his thick black glasses gone to reveal his handsome face. The heat I felt while texting him earlier is nothing compared to how I feel now. My nipples pebble against my nightshirt. Slickness gathers between my thighs. My breaths quicken as my heart thrums in my chest.

“I wanted to see you. Your flannel pajamas are adorable.” His eyes glimmer in the moonlight streaming in from the open window. His smooth lilt sounds more pronounced and salacious.

“How did you get in here? Did you come through my window?” I should feel scared he’s here uninvited, that he somehow knows where I live. He’s in my room without permission. But I’m not. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m horny or stupidly altruistic.

“That’s inconsequential. What matters is that I’m here. So you think only an incubus could pull off something sexy like that?” He tips his chin at me in challenge, daring me to agree.

“Well yeah, they’re creatures fueled by sex. Real men don’t act that way, unfortunately.” I’m goading him on, but I don’t care.

If I’m being honest, I want him to prove me wrong. Who am I right now? I can’t believe I’m doing this, even if it’s just in a dream. Feck being scared. All I feel is a sense of desire burning through me. He needs to touch me. Kiss me. Anything. He runs his hand from my face down to my neck, feeling my pulse point. His tongue wets his bottom lip as his eyes flash with devilish intention. He unbuttons my nightshirt, freeing my breasts, and rubs my hard nipple between his finger and thumb.

“Your pulse is hammering, and your nipples could cut glass. Are you excited to find me in your bed?” he asks as he kneels over top of my legs, balancing his weight on his forearms so his face is inches from mine. I’m nervous and barely able to talk, so I just nod. “Not good enough. Use your voice, Fiadh. Tell me how excited you are.”

I gasp as he pinches my nipple, trying my hardest to force the words out, but all I can do is moan. It’s been such a long time since another person has touched me. He gazes into my eyes, chuckling.

“Your wanton moans are all I have to hear,” he coos.

He takes my arms, pinning them above my head with one hand as he hovers over my space.

“Don’t move,” he orders as he tears the pillow case off my pillow.

He uses it to tie my hands to the headboard. The commanding tone of his voice and the feeling of being restrained, completely at his mercy, makes fear and anticipation roil in my gut. I instinctually open my legs, my body responding to him on its own.

He settles between them, closing the distance between us and kissing me. His tongue drags across my lips, forcing my mouth open. The kiss is deep, possessive, and drugging. All my previous feelings of apprehension and nervousness are gone now. Something inside me lights up at the sensual slide of his lips on mine. As his tongue caresses mine, I throw caution and guilt to the wind. I just want him. I want him to possess me, dominate me. I want to dream of something that isn’t depressing—feel something aside from complete and utter hopelessness for once.

For the first time since my husband died, I feel alive.

He peppers kisses down my jaw, throat, and chest, leaving behind nipping bites as he goes. I grind my hips into him, desperate to find some kind of friction, anything to take some of the edge off of this unbelievable lust I feel bubbling inside me.

“Stop grinding your needy pussy into me, Fiadh. Behave yourself, or I’ll take longer to attend to it,” he says, slapping my pussy in warning. The seriousness to his face and my shock at his discipline urges me to comply. No man has ever done that to me before.

He slowly moves down my body to suck each of my nipples in turn, driving me right to the edge before he bites one and sends a sharp pain straight to my aching clit. Gasping, I try my hardest to stay still. His thumbs go beneath my pajama waistband and knickers, pulling them down to reveal my sex. He puts his nose right between my thighs and inhales deeply.

“You smell amazing, Fiadh,” he whispers. He slides a finger over my entrance, lightly pushing it in. “You’re so fucking wet for me. I’m going to lick your little cunt until you bust, and soak up every last drop of you.”

I groan the moment his tongue licks the most sensitive part of me. He destroys any self control I thought I had. His hands hold my thick thighs apart, giving him a large breadth to devour me. His tongue moves from my entrance, licking and sucking its way up my folds until he reaches my clit. He licks it tentatively at first, teasing me until I’m writhing beneath him. My moans beg him for more.

“Do you want more? Does your greedy cunt want to come?” he rasps. I furiously nod while I buck my hips beneath him. “Use your words and ask me for more.”

“Please, Hunter. Please wreck me. I want you to make me come.”

He fucks me with two fingers as his mouth licks and sucks my clit, sending shivers over my entire body. If this is what it feels like to be alive, then sign me up for more. It’s as if the veil that made my vision black and white has been lifted, and I can finally see the world again. His fingertips glide over a sensitive spot inside me, and technicolor blooms all around me. I tip my head back and groan, reveling in the sensation of being so close to unraveling for him.

Just as I’m about to come, he lifts his face and says, “Fiadh, look at me while you shatter, I want to see it. I want to see you fall apart knowing I did this to you.”

I look up, but instead of Hunter, I see the monster from the woods peering up at me. His face is shrouded in darkness, spare a malicious grin that glows as he continues to finger me, his digits feeling rough inside me.

My heart stops. I can’t breathe. It feels as if my entire body has frozen over with fear. I pull against my bindings, failing to free myself. He laughs at me.

“Oh Wild One, you want to get away? Liar. I smell your fear, your arousal,” he rumbles as he hits a tender spot and I moan. “You love having a monster’s fingers inside of you. The thing from the woods controlling your pleasure–holding your mortal life in his hands–turns you on.” The squelching from my wetness mixed with his cruel, domineering laughter echoes around the room, humiliating me. My face heats, because he’s right—my entire body is throbbing with need.

I feel as if I’ll implode to exist if he doesn’t make me come.

He lowers his head again, and starts to lick and suck on my clit with his warm tongue. My thighs tremble, and right before I can fall apart, he grabs my throat with his free hand, squeezing it until my breath is almost completely cut off.

“Now be my good, scared little whore and come for me. I want to feel you soak my hand,” he demands.

He pinches my clit, and I detonate, drenching his hand in my arousal and turning my face to the side in shame. This dream has taken a turn for the worst, and like the ‘scared little whore’ he thinks I am, I played right into his hand.

“What are you? Why do you want me?” I ask, hating myself for sounding so weak and trembling on the mattress.

“I am the Bringer of Death and the taker of souls, Wild One.” His gravelly, matter-of-fact tone sends shivers down my spine.

“You’re a Sluagh—a d-dark faerie.” I audibly swallow, silently praying to whoever is listening that this is just a vivid hallucination or a dream.

“Pray to whatever God you think is listening. Call me whatever you want. But know that eventually, your soul is mine. Your fear, despair, and broken heart are mine. You are mine.”

He grabs my face, forcing it to the center again so he can kiss me. I hate how good it feels, how my body comes to life when his smirking lips touch mine. Tears roll down my face as his maniacal laughter assaults my ears.

* * *

I wake up, sitting upright and gasping for air. I feel myself spiraling out of control, freefalling further and further into a breakdown. How the feck do I stop it?! I choke on my sobs and can barely breathe out of my nose.

That thing, he can’t be real. Close your eyes. Breathe in for four seconds, hold for seven, exhale for eight. 4-7-8. 4-7-8. 4-7-8. Close your eyes and think about something comforting. Granda and I ate ice cream on the beach. We visited the shops and bought books to read while we enjoyed the weather.

After several minutes of pulling myself together, I finally open my eyes. The moonlight allows me to see that my bedroom is empty, spare myself. I feel my body up and down for injuries, but everything seems fine. Wetness coats the inside of my thighs, but I ignore it. I don’t want to think about how turned on I got from one of my vivid hallucinatory dreams. The room is so cold that my breath mists in front of my face. Pulling my quilt around me, I sigh in relief.

Thank God it was a dream.Across the room, my window is open. A sour feeling sinks to the pit of my stomach as I get out of bed and cross over to close it. I don’t remember leaving it open.

As I pull down the sill, a loud buffeting noise floats through the air. Huge, black wings beat against the night sky, carrying a human-like shape away from me. The moonlight illuminates slick black feathers and my heart stops. I quickly shut the sill and lock it as I watch the Sluagh fly away. As if he can feel me watching him, he turns around. His big red eyes glow against the inky night, leaving me with one more haunting reminder of how far my mental health has slipped.

* * *

Dreams of the Sluagh plague my sleep. I wake up throughout the night and falling back to sleep is difficult. I keep seeing his towering form, the shadows surrounding his pale, sharp face. His jagged, sharp teeth. His red eyes boring into me, as if he was exploring the dark, fecked up corners of my soul. Given what he wants me for, I’m sure he already has.

After waking up at noon, I greet Granda at the kitchen table. He’s plating up cheese toasties and tomato soup, my favorite lunch.

“You slept in late. Up all night reading were you?” he asks, chuckling as he hands me a drink.

“Yeah, it’s a good book. I was up super late reading,” I lie. I hate being dishonest with him, but I don’t want him to worry about me.

“When you pick another mystery, let me know and we’ll read it together; romances aren’t my cup of tea,” he comments. “What are your plans for today?”

“I need to shower and get dressed, then I’m meeting Hunter at three. We may have dinner together, so I’ll let you know.”

“I don’t want you out after dark tonight, Fiadh,” Granda warns. “It’s Samhain, and tonight will be a dangerous time to be out in the dark. The creatures and faeries will be out in full force because the veil between worlds is at its thinnest.”

I sigh, nodding along. His superstition has gotten worse in his old age. “Granda, none of that stuff is real. The woods have always been a safe place ever since I was a child. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll be home before dark. Promise.”

“Thank you. Make sure you keep your phone on you, and if you need me, or if he acts like an arse, you let me know,” he threatens. “I’m proud of you for getting back out there, even if it’s just meeting a friend.”

I hug Granda. Hearing he’s proud of me makes me feel worse for fibbing to him earlier, and I bury my face in his shoulder so he doesn’t see me tear up. Lunch is uneventful, and we spend most of it talking about this and that. Around 1:30, I go upstairs to get ready to see Hunter.

The entire time I’m in the shower, I think of the myriad of ways I can ruin my date. Was this even a date? Maybe he just wanted to be friends? What if things are awkward after the wet dream I had last night? What if he doesn’t show, and I sit there forever waiting? He could realize how awkward I am and decide he wants nothing to do with me. Or he could realize how depressed and lonely I am. I’m sure that’ll be a major turn on for him. Every guy wants an awkward, weird, twenty-three year old widow who isn’t over her dead husband and has rapidly declining mental health.

I style my hair in long, loose waves and wear minimal make-up–just enough that my dark circles disappear and I look natural. Enough to cover my imperfections, while allowing me to still look human. I rarely feel human these days, but still want to look the part. The forecast predicts a cool, crisp fall day, so I wear jeans, an emerald green tunic sweater, combat boots, and a black beanie. I’ll wear a coat over it all, in case the temperature drops. After packing my backpack with snacks, drinks, a blanket, my book, and my notepad and pen, I check the time. I only have a half hour to walk to the oak tree.

As I travel through the woods, I think back to my childhood. The trees are still just as thick and tall as they were back then. They grow in clusters, close enough to whisper their woodland secrets to each other, almost creating a maze. I would spend hours hiking through them, searching for imaginary faeries and folk creatures. The canopy of leaves above blocks out some of the sunlight, giving the woods a mysterious edge. I zip up my coat and continue to walk the worn pathway to the giant oak tree. By the time I arrive, Hunter already has a plaid blanket laid out with a picnic basket and pillows.

“Hunter, you went all out!” I exclaim, gesturing to the setup. I put my backpack down before sitting next to him on the blanket. “I brought some snacks and drinks and another blanket in case we get cold.”

“I wanted this to be nice. I realized after I asked you that reading in the woods may not be the most glamorous date, so I packed us a picnic basket for an early dinner and brought some pillows to relax on.” His smile disarms me, and I realize that he said date. My nerves take over, and I stare into the blanket, trying my hardest not to spiral into self doubt. I could ruin everything by saying the wrong thing. He could realize that I’m a depressed, pathetic shell of the woman I once was–that I’m a complete waste of his time. Why do I have to be so awkward?

Hunter tips my chin up with his fingers, locking eyes with me. His dark green eyes comfort me in a familiar way, sinking into my soul and making me feel more grounded. Some of the panic I felt earlier disappears as I focus on their gold and hazel flecks.

“Why were you looking at the ground? I want to see your beautiful face,” he croons.

I am not going to cry like a hormonal tween because a man calls me beautiful. That would officially ruin this date. A tear slips free, and he wipes it away with his thumb. I think of how Daire used to do the exact same thing, and realize that not telling Hunter about my past will be more difficult than I thought. I may as well tell him now so he doesn’t waste his time with me.

“I’m usually awkward, but more so now because my husband died about six months ago. The past half year has been challenging. I’ve been stuck in a really dark place, and I’m just starting to reconnect with the world again, if that makes sense? I wasn’t going to tell you because I didn’t want you to judge me, but I want to start this off on the right foot. Any potential relationship we may have, whether it’s as friends or more, should be based on honesty,” I confess.

He sits there for a few moments, and I wonder if I have royally screwed this up until he wraps his strong, muscular arms around me, bringing me into a comforting hug. I squeeze him back, and then let him hold me, enjoying the closeness. It’s been a while since a man, other than Granda, hugged me.

“Don’t think I’m a creep, but I already knew,” he says as we continue to embrace. “I remember your name from the articles that I read. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Or you can—whatever makes you comfortable. I’m here to listen to whatever you have to say.”

I didn’t know how badly I needed to hear him say that. After being whispered about and judged for months, it feels vindicating to have someone understand how I feel and offer to support me.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time. Thank you.”

He sits against the oak tree and insists I sit between his legs with my head on his chest while we silently read, so I don’t have to hunch over or lay on the blanket. We share the book as he reads over my shoulder. We lose ourselves for hours, alternating between reading together and talking about whatever comes to mind. Something about this feels so natural. He feels like a long lost friend who just gets me–someone I’ve known for years.

We get to a spicy chapter, and he tightens his hold on me, squeezing my back against his chest. Even through my sweater and coat, I can feel his length hardening. He starts to read the scene aloud.

“‘I tilted my chin up, kissing the open patch of skin. He grabbed my legs, hoisting me up so I had to wrap them around his waist. His lips met mine in a long, seductive kiss that made my toes curl. I felt like I was melting against him,’” he reads.

I shiver in his arms as he reads on, quoting the incubus I imagined him one-upping in my dream last night. “‘I hate that your dream was cut short. I wanted to bend you over the back of that couch and ruin you, so you would never dream about anyone other than me ever again.’”

He moves his hand to the waistband of my jeans, and toys with the top button. I inhale sharply as his touch burns my skin. Hearing his deep, raspy brogue read smut makes desire flash through my system and pool between my thighs. His nose runs along my ear, and he licks a line of fire down my neck.

“Were you thinking about me taking control and dominating you before you went to bed, Fiadh?” he whispers in my ear. “Did you dream of me doing wicked things to you in your bed?”

“Yes,” I moan as he kisses my neck and nips at my earlobe. “I want to know what that would feel like.” The last bit slips out of my lips unwarranted, but I can’t bring myself to regret it.

He unzips my coat, running his other hand under my shirt and rubbing my nipple under my bralette. It stiffens and he groans, grinding his hard dick into my back. I break free of his hold and turn around, kneeling over him so I can kiss him. His lips are soft, just like I dreamed they would be. I bite his bottom lip, toying with it, but not for long. He takes over, weaving his hands through my hair and pulling me closer to him as he tips my head up. The painful sting radiates through my scalp, but instead of setting off my internal alarms, it makes me ravenous for him. I relish the pain, crave it. His tongue slips into my mouth, and he commands my full attention, forcing the ever-turning wheels in my mind to grind to a halt. For once, I’m not sad or anxious. I don’t feel like the world has ended.

“You’re making it really hard to behave myself,” he warns as he grabs my arse under my jeans, digging his fingers into my flesh as I moan like a whore. “If we’re not careful, I’m going to do some ungentlemanly things and devour you whole in the middle of the woods.”

At this moment, I decide to throw caution to the wind. I don’t care that I barely know him or that Daire died only six months ago. Hunter draws me in like a magnet, the force between us undeniably pulling me closer. I desperately want to collide with him.

“No one said you had to be good,” I rasp.

He chuckles, and it sends shockwaves through my entire body. Something about his devilish laughter sounds familiar, but before I have the chance to place it, he tips me onto my back and removes my coat and shirt. I take my boots off as he unbuttons my jeans, pulling them off and smiling at the black lacy panties underneath.

“As beautiful as they are, they need to go,” he says as he rips my panties off and pockets them.

I lay naked and spread before him in the cold autumn wind. A gust of frigid air blows against my bare cunt, making me shiver. He takes me in, eyes roaming from my hair to my toes. He quickly removes his clothes and spreads my legs to kneel in between them. He runs his tongue down my slit, groaning as he licks his lips. Parting my folds, he tongues at my clit, alternating between short flicks and long strokes. Each movement sends jolts of pleasure through my body until I’m bucking beneath him.

I look into his eyes and his pupils are blown, standing out against the feral, unhinged look on his face. He dips to my entrance, and he hums in appreciation before spearing me with his tongue. He eats me like a starving, rabid man. Like no matter how much he consumes, it will never be enough for him to feel full. A bubbling sensation builds inside me, threatening to tip me over into orgasm. He pulls away, replacing his tongue with two of his fingers inside me, hitting a tender spot that makes me bow off the floor. I feel wetness coat my inner thighs as I detonate, riding his fingers until he pulls them out and shoves them in my mouth.

“Taste how sweet your greedy little cunt is, Fiadh. I told you not to tempt me, that I’d do awful things to you in these woods.” He pushes his fingers further down my throat, making me gag as he smirks at me. “I’m going to put you on your hands and knees, and you’ll be my little cock-slut, begging for me to make you come again until you can barely stand. I’ll fuck you right into the dirt–so hard that you’ll ache for days, and every time you feel a twinge of pain, you’ll remember how you got ruined in the same spot you read fairytales in as a child.”

His dirty talk ruins me, sets something free inside me I didn’t know was caged. My own arousal tastes sweet and salty in my mouth. The heady combination of his filthy words and his fingers hitting the back of my throat have me salivating for more. I want to feel him so deep inside me that he breaks me into a million pieces before putting me back together again. He maneuvers me onto my hands and knees, grabbing my hips before he slams into me in one smooth thrust. An animalistic grunt tears from his mouth as a pained moan escapes mine. The pain is exquisite–I can finally feel something again. He hammers into me relentlessly, and with each slide of his cock, I feel an overwhelming sensation pushing me closer to a limit I wasn’t aware I had. My moans echo through the forest before his hand collars my throat, bringing me up so my back is flush with his chest.

“You feel so tight around me, so fecking good,” he groans, his deep voice penetrating me to my basest level. He switches to long, deep thrusts that hit me just right. “I was already becoming addicted to you, but now I’m obsessed. I’ll never be able to let you go.”

His words don’t make sense to me, but I barely care. I scream as my climax hits me like a truck and I lose my balance, my forearms and face falling onto the blanket.

“Wild One, I bet your screams will sound even better when I chase you through the woods,” Hunter rasps as he releases inside me.

My heart skips a beat as I mentally replay what he said. Wild One? Wild One. I look over my shoulder, and my breath escapes me. A pale, angular face wrapped in shadow with glowing red eyes stares at me, grinning like a lunatic. His human form is gone, replaced by the monster from my dreams. His entire body is covered in swirling shadows. The masculine hands that left bruises on my hips have been replaced by sharp claws that cut into my skin. A massive creature kneels behind me where Hunter knelt. I freeze, unable to move as realization dawns on me.

The old folk called Sluaghs “The Hunt”, because they’re always on the hunt for souls. Hunter…The Hunt… Hunter is a Sluagh. He’s been hunting me in a human form, reeling me in like a fish on a line so he could feast from my pain and claim my soul. He wraps his arms around me, and an icy coldness seeps into my skin, killing the warmth I felt moments ago. His maniacal laughter brings tears to my eyes because I’m caught. He already has me in his grasp.

“Don’t cry, Wild One. I’m not done with you yet.” His words sound full of promise as he pulls out of me, and I feel a gush of wetness trickle down my leg and am reminded of the bliss he gave me.

How could the monster from my nightmare make me feel so alive? So cherished? How could a being so callous and cold bring me so much pleasure and make my body feel like it’s been reborn?

I’m ripped from my internal musing by the feeling of a cold talon dragging against my nipple. He sits on his heels and turns me around, so I’m in his lap. His tongue invades my mouth, stroking my own. Before I can even think, my mind is flooded with an unexplainable, twisted desire that scares me. I grab his shoulders, pulling him closer to me and grinding myself into him. His entire body is cold and as hard as stone. I’m a deadly mixture of desperate desire, an insatiable need, and a frantic fear that has me acting insane. His hand wraps around my throat and squeezes so hard that I can’t breathe.

“I thought you’d be my scared, broken little girl, but it turns out you’re my greedy little woodland whore. You’re already desperate for more and we just finished.” As the lack of oxygen permeates my brain, all the desire I felt before gives way to a crippling fear. “Mmm, there it is, that mouth-watering fear I’ve become addicted to. Make no mistake, I’m going to claim and consume your soul. You’re mine.”

He releases my throat, and my fight or flight instinct kicks in. I shoot up and swipe my coat from the ground, hastily putting it on as I dart into the trees. Every step between us increases my chances of survival. I need to run as fast and as far as I can.

My heart hammers within my chest, and I feel dizzy from a lack of oxygen. My feet are cut and scratched by the twigs and crunchy leaves that litter the forest floor. Nighttime descends, and I can’t see too far ahead of me. I push myself to weave faster, farther through the maze of trees. The entire woods is silent, absent of the bugs and creatures that roam its grounds. I dare to turn my head, fearful to see him right on my tail, but I don’t see him anywhere. I stop to catch my breath and figure out where I am. None of these trees look familiar, and I’m far off the beaten path I usually travel. I slowly turn in a circle, trying to somehow determine north, until I hear a loud buffeting noise tearing throughout the eerie quiet.

I peer up into the sky and see feathered black wings carrying an inhuman form. He’s tracking me from the sky. I break into a run again, wincing as my foot hits a sharp rock, and I fall to the ground. Blood soaks the sole of my foot, and I cry out in pain. He hovers above me in the sky, circling me like a vulture and toying with me. Is this how it ends? I’m going to die in the woods Granda told me not to get caught in at night by a creature I swore up and down didn’t exist.

The Sluagh lands in a kneel on the floor, like a dark avenger of the night. His smirk is firmly in place and he rises, walking toward me like a morbid angel as he retracts his wings behind his back.

Giving up so soon? His voice rings loud inside my mind. You’re pathetic for someone whose name translates to Wild One. I thought you’d put up more of a fight. I wanted to hunt you down before I claimed you.

He stops next to me and lifts my foot, swiping his claw through the blood. Popping the talon in his mouth, his sick and depraved groan echoes in my head. His entire body is muscle encased in opal skin, glittering the dark. I can’t tear my eyes away from him. He equally scares and arouses me, and I feel so fecked up over it all. His deep, rasping inhale breaks the spell that’s come over me, and I realize how close he is.

Christ, I’m about to end your life and you’re trying to figure out if I scare you or turn you on. You’re a fecked bird with zero self preservation, aren’t you? I’m going to have so much fun claiming you and tearing your soul shred by fecking shred from your body before I consume every last bit.

Something snaps inside me, and I scramble up again. He’s right–I’m pathetic, a scared deer waiting for the wolf to rip it apart. I refuse to lay down like a sacrifice for a reject-faerie that took advantage of me and tricked me into the woods for a primal playdate. Feck that, I’m fighting. I start to run again, pushing myself deeper and deeper into the woods.

His voice clatters in my mind, its evil edge slowing me down. You cannot outrun me, Wild One. I’ve felt the hopelessness of your heart, the agony of your soul. You are mine.