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Dreams are a succulent nectar and you are the fruit. You are ours to drain dry, to twist around until your dreams drip from you like blood, sweet life blood of the soul. Can you feel it, stirring in your chest? That feeling of the very core of you turning inside out? It starts as a tremor, a cold tingle, as your dreams are squeezed out, taking bits of soul like the pulp of a ripe fruit as it is pressed in to juice.

Can you hear the cries? Those are your dreams, calling out to you, as they are twisted into nightmares. The tart tang of a nightmare, with the hint of a dying dream, is the flavor we thrive on. Each tear your soul sheds is a drop of gold on our tongue, as we cherish the taste of your fear.

You are ours now, to do with as we please. You gave us your dreams and they are the chains that bind your soul, forever and always, to us.

Thank you for sharing your dreams.