It’s your end-game fantasy: Utter desolation.

Today, we’re not being gentle. Nothing gradual. I’m not considering your future at all, nor My next tribute. I just want to crush you entirely. And you can't say no to this body, the way I move, these lips, the way they speak, the eyes, the way they see right through you.

What will you do when you are completely broke and in debt? What is a life after bankruptcy like? Is it living at all? At least you know you went down for the best, right? At least they’ll write on you eulogy that you passed “doing what [he] love[d].” I want y...

It’s your end-game fantasy: Utter desolation.

Today, we’re not being gentle. Nothing gradual. I’m not considering your future at all, nor My next tribute. I just want to crush you entirely. And you can't say no to this body, the way I move, these lips, the way they speak, the eyes, the way they see right through you.

What will you do when you are completely broke and in debt? What is a life after bankruptcy like? Is it living at all? At least you know you went down for the best, right? At least they’ll write on you eulogy that you passed “doing what [he] love[d].” I want you empty. I want to stick My fingers in the last crevices and get every last drop, like a jar of Nutella.

Then I’ll throw you away.

An entire life’s worth of work and savings, all to be thrown away at the end. Lost. Gone. Never to be replenished. If you want to live, you’ll have to earn more. But alas, this is the end of the line for you. This is checkout time, and I’m the cashier.