Master’s POV
Look at this, here we are again. I feel the bubbling joy and the intoxicating insanity press and seem to tingle in my chest and on my skin; a satisfying sound of anguish rips from the young ones cracked lips. It’s like a bitter end, like watching my daughter finally die. It’s like hearing all the screams that, over the years, have dulled to only angering moans come alive again. What is that things name again? The question ponders me and slightly lessens my excitement.
An image of Melissa cooing her name when she was still healthy paints itself in my mind her soft, cracking voice still had love for the thing that sucked the nutrients and life out of her. Why can’t I hear the name? How could she love such a creature from hell? How did she not blame that freak? The questions l
