It's dark. I don't really know how else to describe where I am. There's no light, for obvious reasons, and there's no brightness to the colors that surround me. It's all black, or forest green, or midnight blue, or the cracked Indian brown of my blood.
No… Not my blood. It's not my blood. I'm not sure if it's even blood. It's her juice, her feast, her tasty elixir of lamb… The only part of me is the lamb part. I remember bleating as she sheared me again, even though my fleece had not grown back fully yet…
Good God, I'm insane. It has to be official at this point, it's been too long since I've thought coherently… or am I thinking coherently now? I don't know… I really don't know anymore.
I don't know much of anything anymore.
I don't know how long I've been down here, or even where here is. I don't know what I look like, only that I have hair like the sun (whatever the sun is) that she likes to pet and braid. I do know that I'm beautiful sometimes, and ugly others. It depends on her mood. And I also know that I have scars across my body for when I'm ugly and love bites for when I'm pretty.
Love bites… Literal, bites of love. I don't know why, but my stomach churns to call them that; something about a tree and red hair make me want to gag each time her lips and teeth play with my skin tenderly. Or maybe it's really the fact that I enjoy it that makes me want to vomit.
Yes, I enjoy it. I enjoy the love bites; I enjoy every time that she touches me. You would, too, if she touched you. She's so beautiful, like the night imprisoned into her flowing locks, the pallor of the stars trapped in her smooth skin, the reddest rose crushed into her lips, the light of the moon captured into her… golden eyes…? Maybe they're blue…
It makes me want to die just thinking about it. Too much to think about, too much to love, to hate, to kiss, to bite, to apologize to, to repent for…
God…
Who is God?
I don't know… I think I made him up as a playmate. Or maybe he's a bone for me to choose, to chew on... No, I'm not a dog. I'm not even human…
I'm just a lamby. A pet. A love. That's what she calls me. Her love, her lamby, her pet. I don't my name… And it doesn't even matter to me. Did it ever matter?
No. I have decided it never did matter who I was… I don't think it even matters who I am now. All that matters is her. She. It.
No time to think now… She's here to feed, to feed me her love, and to feed her me. I hope she's brought Miss Edith. That means extra sugar in my tea.