A girl… so obsessed with a love who could not love her back… after the greatest/worst time of her life. The best because he claimed he loved her. The worst, because of all else. She hated her husband, she passionately loved him. Each night… after he’d fallen asleep she’d do again and again what she had to get him back, and to keep him all these years. She took out a small doll pinned onto it his hair and scraps of his clothing; of course she knew too his true name and his location. Essence, name, location: the three laws of controlling a substance. With her littlest ginger she stroked over the face of the doll and softly landed kisses around its blue eyes, “Dream of me… dream of me…. Love me….” She whispered to the doll. This insured nothing of course; mentally you may control no one. But, she had many tricks up her sleeve for … physically enhancing his emotions and twisting them towards her. Softly she would stroke over his jean zipper and watch as wet dreams would fill and control his mind for the rest of the night. These dreams of course were always of his wife.
With her scrying pool she had sacrificed much for… things so horrible… one cannot whisper them ear to ear- with it- she had watched his dreams the night she went in found him again in his… a week or so after the break up. Such a whimsical run in- for him at least- had insured her being on his mind for the rest of the day… his dreams had been filled with her… for she had occupied his whole day. She watched the scrying pool as he tossed confused in his sleep… for he had never decided how he felt for her… and as soon as she saw them standing together in his subconscious she would stroke the jeans of his voo doo doll.
One could say it was her own version of psychology. After that first dream he’d woke up thinking of her again in the way he had when they’d first met… he’d rediscovered the spark that could not be kept alive overseas before. This was all it took; he stopped her “flight” back to her country and the two courted where they were. Being where he was and not far away she could ensure she kept him happy, she could ensure she kept him satisfied, she could ensure they stayed in love.
‘He really does love me… he really does love me.’ She would tell herself as she kissed his sleep breathing lips and lay beside him, ‘I’m just eliminating the enemy that fought us in our distance.’
It must have been true too, in some sense at least, because when he was awake and she had no control-for she chose never t touch the voo doo doll when he was- he c=proclaimed his love in full conscious and never strayed when the other girls flirted.
She had only unnaturally reawakened the flame that distance had put out. So… in a sense it was like bringing back the dead: a forbidden act that brings good fortune. One should never play with such things as love or death or life, but it has become human nature.
‘And really,’ she would tell herself, ‘This is natural love, because I’ve only unplayed what his mother played… that whole year of messing with his head about how he couldn’t hold my hand… we were overcoming it before she ever stepped in…’ The last thought was bitter and so being her dreams that night were better too.
(If anyone cares for me to post more of my disturbing story please comment and I shall write more)