She says it to me. "Insect." I can't go against her words. Not because I'm afraid—but because I love her too much, so much that I don't even want to resist. She's incredibly beautiful, and I'm nothing more than a doll to her. I'm not allowed to look at or touch her face or body directly. And yet, today, I feel like her crotch is wetter than usual. Why is that? For some reason, that thought pierces straight through my chest.