“Listen to me carefully, Mia. My whole life, I’ve been a desolate, empty entity of anarchy and violence. My black soul couldn’t survive without inflicting some form of chaos or producing a decadent burst of creativity, but even that has dwindled and started to drift from the center of my being. Without art, I’m nothing but a serial killer in the making. Ever since you came along, not only have you pushed my creativity to heights I never imagined would be possible, but you also filled up the emptiness with your stubborn submissiveness and stupid flowers with names. While I can’t possibly be
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