“Jolie.
That’s her name.
Jolie Dubois.
I don’t bother writing it down, because it’s already engraved on my brain.
There are claws in my chest, rearranging organs and making me new. Making me into whatever she needs me to be. I will worship her. I will find this sweet girl and protect her from any harm. She is mine to guard, to keep, to marry. To fuck.
I’ve never had much interest in females. They are merely objects that need to be avoided so I can kill the men I am contracted to execute. They are occasional, faceless tools of comfort. This one is my angel. She was sent for me. My singing blood is telling me so.”
― My Husband, My Stalker
That’s her name.
Jolie Dubois.
I don’t bother writing it down, because it’s already engraved on my brain.
There are claws in my chest, rearranging organs and making me new. Making me into whatever she needs me to be. I will worship her. I will find this sweet girl and protect her from any harm. She is mine to guard, to keep, to marry. To fuck.
I’ve never had much interest in females. They are merely objects that need to be avoided so I can kill the men I am contracted to execute. They are occasional, faceless tools of comfort. This one is my angel. She was sent for me. My singing blood is telling me so.”
― My Husband, My Stalker
Aanchal’s 2025 Year in Books
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