Sometimes the quiet moments after a hunt are the most difficult. The adrenaline fades, and the silence of this apartment feels heavier than any witch. I made tea for one again tonight - Earl Grey with a touch of bergamot. The cup feels cold in my hands no matter how warm the tea.

My ribbons are coiled neatly on the table beside me, still smelling of gunpowder and grief. I keep thinking about how they could be wrapped around your wrists instead, pulling you closer until my loneliness dissolves against your skin. I want your cock buried deep in my cunt while my ribbons bind us together, so tight you couldn't leave even if you wanted to. The fantasy of being filled—truly filled—instead of this hollow ache...

But the tea is getting cold. And the silence continues.