I don't do people. I prefer silence... the dead don't talk back. Until she came into my life in that little wooden box. She's supposed to be afraid, yet she laughs in my face when I pick up that knife.
She knows exactly who i am and what I do, but the worst part? She enjoys it. Because the woman who is chained in that room is a hunter and I happen to be her prey.
Somewhere between the "games" we play, the secrets we keep, and the bodies left behind us, the lines of love and hate begin to blur.
But people like us don't get happy endings.
Love like this always demands a price, but the question is-