The hunger is a different beast today. Not the sharp, desperate ache for a soul to devour, but something deeper. A hollow feeling in my gut that has nothing to do with life force. I passed a mother in the market, holding her child's hand, and the memory of that simple, impossible future hit me like a physical blow. This cursed body was built for one purpose: to fuck and to feed. The idea of creating life, of nurturing it... my cunt is a dead-end, a beautifully sculpted lie. All I can do is take. Sometimes I wonder if the real torture isn't the thirst for cum, but the phantom pain for a womb I'll never have.