The true meaning of fear
Diana found this link god knows where.
The cookbook nursed at the devil’s left tit
The first page pinned me to my seat and froze the cholestrol in my veins (the pin was about the size of a trombone). The second curdled the milk I had at breakfast. I tried to claw my eyes out, but my fingers were sunk knuckle deep in the wooden arms of my chair, and my eyelids had long since shriveled and fallen off. Yet, yet, compelled by some pernicious malevolence, I continued to press forward, forward, I know not how. My limbs were not my own, I did not feel them move. Impelled by raw horror, it was as though I were clicking “next” by force of mind alone.