The Dark Writer

I haven't written in so long, dear shadow.

I imgaine you curled up in the night, or sitting upright, lit by the electric glow of a digital harbor from which you sail off into virtual infinity...and you came here.

Welcome to my mind.

What to say...what to say...

Well, first off, I love you.

Did that shock you? Don't feel reproach. I meant that I adore you. Who does not adore that which adores them? Through you, I see myself, and it pleases me when you see me. How else should I know that I am real?

But don't get too comfortable...for I plan to scare you and shake you this strange winter. Don't feel reproach, but I would have you recoil...and jump...and cry...and squeal. Also laugh...and cheer...and smile. I cascade and serenade you with all the darkest sensations and bring you up into sunlights and rainbows.

Perhaps I am boastful. You wouldn't believe me, anyway, would you? If I told you I was magic...that I am a vampire? Oh, I don't have any teeth, you don't have to shiver so. I do not feed on your blood, I play with your emotions. I coo them and woo them and make them dance. I can make you crazed and passionate...wild and desperate...courageous and chivalrous...mine, for the night.

It is because you adore me. You surrender to me, and I thank you.

Come back, again. Sit in my chamber.

Be still and silent.

The Dark Writer writes again...

Just for you.