I have long sharp stiletto nails, painted in glittering gold and pointed to perfected. I tap on a soft cloth covering a wooden surface, letting the fabric swish through my fingertips, tapping and dragging my fingernails across it. I move the fabric and tap slowly and then insistently on the bare wood, before scoring it with my nails, clawing back and forth, making slidy scratching noises. I turn my stiletto nails on myself, digging into my soft chest, scratching hard and deep. You can see how sharp my nails are by the bright red angry welts that form. Such sharp nails.