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It's been too long.

Too long dragging around this husk of a body. Too long living–if I can even call it that–with this suffocating, painful emptiness inside of me.

While my missing piece, my panacea, walks their righteous path, spreading an irreplicable magic while failing to grant it to the one who needs it most. Lost in all their love for the earth, unaware of the blessing they grant upon it by merely being. A splash of colour in a sea of shade. A perfection wasted on this world.

An injustice that has gone uncorrected for far, far too long.

Our bond seemed so sure to me. It's been unbearable to watch it be strained further by the day, in the fear that it'll eventually snap. It'll snap and leave you stranded, surrounded by these worthless ingrates. Of your dimensions or of mine, they shrivel to nothing in your presence, in the strength of a beauty they can't comprehend. Just ignorant, the lot of them.

There's one benefit to that, however, in regards to what I have planned: less inconvenient questions.

(As if there'd be the tiniest crumbs around for any self-styled detectives snooping around.

Or, in the unlikely event of them discovering my exact intentions, having any means of undoing the fate I'm going to deliver.)

Best of luck finding some secret way out of your bedroom. I wouldn't expect anything different, given how often you lock yourself in there nowadays. Denying me. Quite the fitting place to try and hide: I couldn't think of anywhere better to commemorate our anniversary.

That's right. Our anniversary. I've been sure to keep track. In all honesty, it's hard to call that time before our first meeting anything resembling 'life'. There was one truly listless individual trudging down that sorry road.

And how to describe the light that such a path was bathed in, one fateful day…it's a challenge to convey such weight and worth to someone who's not convinced of it themselves. You've given me purpose. A drive to carry on. I'd call you cruel to deny me that, if you had the capacity to even try.

No, the 'monster' in the shadows isn't going anywhere. Cute of you to hope, though. It's amusing, at least. Is it a test of my tenacity? You of all people should know of its heights…and its depths. Its all-encompassing control that spurs on my every action. Is that spirit of yours poking its head in where it's not wanted again? Such adorable flights of fancy you're having. But it's time to wake up.

Oh, go ahead. Try the window. See how far you get.

It all led up to this. I knew it from the start. The two of us, soon to be one. True unity. Completion. There's no other way to colour it.

Promise and conviction, hand in white-knuckled hand. They have spurred me on for all this time. I wonder if I'll miss having such a drive. Chasing down your scent, hungering for it; salivating in the hopes of the measliest hint of more. So sweet. So insubstantial.

You really did love how much I eclipsed you in size, didn't you? How my hands could wrap around your waist so effortlessly…how my presence enveloped you so totally…

How, for me, the bliss of holding my beloved so close warred with the boiling in my blood at life waiting to claw them away from me…

How I wanted my embrace to be so total…for the one with the privilege to own you, body and soul, to be me, and only me…

There is one specific moment we shared. I recall it most fondly. Laying (what could fit of me) on your bed with you sprawled across my body, feeling the idle shapes you'd draw across my stomach with your fingers as you spoke. Drawing equally senseless pictures with your words, formed of future aspirations and idle fantasies. I remember nodding along to each and every one, while content in the knowledge that my beloved's destiny lay right beneath them.

It was so hard not to take you then and there. I wonder, sometimes, if it would've been easier if I had done so. The advantage of surprise, and all. Then again, that fight you have in you is wondrous to witness. I want to watch it in all its fire.

Before I snuff it out.

Knowledge really is a kind of power. It's so freeing to come to terms with it. The understanding of what…of who I want, and deserve, and will have. A concept which makes examples of those who can't or won't grasp it. But that's alright. Protest all you want. Struggle and scream. I'm sure I'll deal with all of those reactions. They're an intrinsic part of who you are. Like everything else that drew me to you.

You'll learn to accept it.

No matter how long it'll take to wring every last bit of resistance from those muscles. The rush of it is already waiting to overtake me, and I haven't even started yet. I can just picture how our meeting will unfold. The pressure on your neck, bordering on bone-breaking. The reedy rush of air from your shuddering lungs. The thrash of your pulse, frantic and wild, beating like a butterfly's wings against the fingertips that ghost it.

The alternating touch of my lips and my tongue on your skin. The rich, deepening tang of sweat. The slightest spice of blood under my too-venturous teeth. Same as the evening I first spent in this room.

(Once I was able to get in; bit of an awkward moment. I can't fault you for that. Not too many houses are built to accommodate people of our size. Has that doorframe been replaced by now? Waste of money, it'll turn out.)

For a monstrous urge to begin with, it'll still have so much room to grow. Exact and inexorable. This remains a process to truly savour. To nurture before its denouement. Time will bring out its beauty. The time taken to drink in the sweet nectar that is my victory. Time taken to map out the contours of a body I know all too well, and yet treat every exploration of it as my first.

And all it'll take is me opening up a little wider for you to be welcomed into a world of opposites: light giving way to darkness, cold smothered in suffocating heat, and whatever that thing was, calling itself 'freedom', bowing its head under tight, wet confinement.

Should the time before that inevitable step be counted in minutes, or in mere seconds? I would have loved to try and recreate more of our first moments, but it's unlikely that I can stave off my urges for that long. One swallow will follow another, ushering my prized treasure down the slick bends of my throat before slipping into my stomach's waiting embrace. Finally ridding me of that abhorred vacuum within.

Treat it like a kind of mending. A completion. Like easing into a warm bath. A cradle constructed to receive one and one alone. Drawing the curtains on your aimless life, and opening them on one of true fulfillment for us both.

You were meant for me. I'd assure you of it a thousand more times, if I were able. A shame, really, how you robbed yourself of that once you shut me out...but there'll be some time to make up for that. Perhaps, once you're inside, you'll be in too deep to hear it. But devotion like this? You'll feel. Through skin, sinew, muscle, and bone. It will seep through it all, right into your very soul.

And you'll lie there and marinate. Another perk of such extensive 'preparation', I suppose. Less time wasted on those futile struggles–as enjoyable as they are–and more to come to terms with what's in store. So, my missing piece, let it all sink in. Surrounded by me like this…what else is there to think about?

Did you even consider the sheer amount of adoration I had left to shower you with? Countless hours running through the different ways you'd react, in my mind instead of in person...I will just admit that the flames of my rage were once far, far easier to stoke. There are better outlets for that kind of frustration, now; that was easy enough to learn.

So any issues right now would not be appreciated, to say the least. I'd prefer it if I didn't have to get messy–but if your stubbornness decides not merely to border on frustrating any longer, then I'll do what needs to be done.

Part of me wants it to hurt. Inside and out. Such a simple urge to give in to; just as simple to go through with. Only a touch more pressure on that beautiful body. It wouldn't amount to much, anyway. Barely a fraction of the suffering I've gone through every day.

And it'd only worsen in the belly of the beast, so to speak. Grooves of moist muscle bearing down, verging on rending tendons and bone. The creeping sensation of hungering heat; burns spreading like a contagion, eager to singe and scald and boil. Maybe you'll teeter for some time on that terrifying edge…but said visions can stay as such, and one belch will be enough to pull you back. Out and away from that torturous end. I'm not heartless, after all.

So only one of us will be able to witness our ultimate bond. I'd ask if you can imagine it, but would anything you could conjure up even measure to the final act itself? It's overwhelming to even picture. Two hearts will count it down in rapid rhythm, each beat another tick of the clock towards the moment they become one.

When those walls of yours come down, and I am invited inside. As I break you apart and mulch you down. Stripping away each layer to expose your core. The artistry of your being reduced to its smallest constituents: a wondrous blend for my intestines to drink in. It will be a testament to my promise of loving every part of you in equal measure. All are valued. All are desired.

All are mine to take.

All components to the cornucopia of flavours that awaits my indulgence. That ensnared me with that first tentative taste, back when its source was more…co-operative, firm at the forefront of my every thought. Good thing I'll have your bed–more like a cushion, but still–to lie back on, because there's no chance I remain standing once I feel those flavours cascade down my tongue. More to reminisce over as I gaze at your acid-seared skull on my mantel. As if anything else that passed my lips could compare.

God. I'm drooling up a storm. It really is a question of whether I'm being tested. Why else would I be saddled with this agony if not to quash it with the greatest of offerings?

Call it what you want. Obsession. Desperation. Sheer insanity. It's nothing in the face of the truth.

It's eating me alive. Can you hear it? The growling of the ravening beast within my skin? The way it thrashes in its shuddering confines? The rasping of its breaths, haggard and wild? All in the symphony of pure, unfettered yearning?

Soon, it will be sated. Never will a hunger of this breadth worm through me again. No more similarly-sized strangers that looked close enough to help me delude myself. Nor those that seemed close enough when that monster took control.

And soon you'll realise what all those little signs were trying to warn you about. A shadow lingering in an alleyway? Shoes tapping out absent patterns on gravel? The gouging of fingernails into shuddering palms? Hard to call it paranoia when there truly is something monstrous out there. And maybe you'll beg for it, in the end, to come and save you from the depths of your own imaginings.

Don't let them drag you down too deeply, my dear. Your salvation awaits you, right outside your door. There will only be room for absolute bliss once our bond is true. Once the pain of this patience finally loosens its hold.

Count the minutes. Spend them how you wish. For all its twists and turns, there's only one ending on such a path. And there's no need for you to find it.

It's coming for you.