Skin like papyrus rasps against mine. I would close my eyes if I could. He slithers, scents me, savors tiny sounds I can’t suppress. I shiver, but remain, a sacrifice required for another year of food for the town’s children. Children I will never have.
My corruption began when he entered the room. It compounds when he enters me, a sharp dart in a dark place. I bleed as I was meant to. His skin warms, softens.
“Inhuman, that’s what it is,” a witness whispers. She means inhumane, but speaks the truth.
He isn’t human.
And now, neither am I.