Chapter 1
~Trigger Warnings~
Stalking
Privacy Invasion
Depraved Actions
Brutal Murders
Death
Traumatic Childhood
Forked Tongue
Snake Play
Spider Play
Insects and Reptiles used as weapons
Centipede Play
Bullying
Unstable Demented Man
Deep Obsession
Somnophilia
Dubious Consent
Blood Play (Menstruation)
Hybristophilia
Heavily Pierced Cock
TOUCH HER, AND YOU DIE
~Content Warning~
The following book contains content that isn’t suitable in any way for minors, and it can make people uncomfortable a long way. The content inside the book is on a HIGH level for dark romance, not for the ones with a faint heart. This is no sweet, fluffy romance but unhinged love with no boundaries. There are descriptive dark sexual scenes, very detailed murder scenes, and an overall CRAZY LOVE between the main characters that will make you question whether is morally right or not when it comes to loving someone. Your mental health matters, so double-check the trigger list above for safety. But, if you love relationships like Morticia and Gomez Addams... then this book might be your perfect piece of pumpkin pie this Halloween.
Let’s give a big welcome to MR. SPIDER - tall, broad, tattooed, pierced with a split tongue and a DEEP SADISTIC MIND - is ready this Halloween to make your panties drop and throw out the window any moral compass.
Chapter 1 ~Anastasia’s POV~
The only sound that fills the room is the sound of a brush meeting canvas. I am completely focused on the task at hand, my fingers firmly gripping the brush, my mind completely consumed by the act of painting. The white paint spreads across the black one, creating a stark contrast between the two colors. I can feel the texture of the brush against the canvas, the way the paint glides and pools as I move it back and forth — as if the brush itself was an extension of my body. My tongue darts out to lick my lip as I put in all the effort on the detailed cobweb on the black background of the artwork. I blow a piece of my hair out of my face, feeling my senses tickling.
I had dedicated one of the rooms of my house to my art, transforming it into a private sanctuary where I could paint and create to my heart’s content. The room was filled with easels, paint palettes, brushes, and a variety of other art supplies. Paint splatters covered every surface, a testament to the countless hours I had spent painting in this room.
In one corner of the room, there was a shelving unit that was filled with books. The shelf ran the length of the wall, packed with books of all shapes and sizes, arranged neatly on the shelves by genre and author. It was clear that I was an avid reader, and the shelf was a testament to the love of literature that ran deep within me. I could spend hours lost in the pages of a novel, immersing myself in worlds and characters that I felt were as real as my own. Reading provided me with an escape from the mundane reality of everyday life and a way to experience new ideas and perspectives. Plus, I enjoyed the physical act of holding a book in my hands, feeling the pages between my fingers, and smelling the scent of freshly printed ink.
Beside the shelving unit full of books and other gothic decor trinkets was a hanging hammock chair suspended from the ceiling by a chain. It was a comfortable-looking chair out of a dream, complete with plush pillows and a fluffy blanket. It was the perfect spot for reading in comfort, with a good book in one hand and a steaming mug of coffee or hot chocolate in the other. I could imagine myself spending hours in the hanging chair, lost in the pages of a favorite novel, and feeling completely relaxed and comfortable as I swung gently back and forth. The pillows and blanket provided a cushy surface to lean against, and the warmth of the hot beverage in my hands would combat any chill in the air.
In the other corner of the room, there was another shelving unit packed full of art supplies. Brushes, paints, canvases, and other tools of the trade were organized neatly on the shelves, each in its own designated spot. I could easily find what I needed to create my next masterpiece, and it was clear that this shelf was the heart of my creative space.
The room was complete with a massive window that spanned almost the entire wall, providing plenty of natural light for my crafting. The window had a cozy windowsill seat, providing me with a comfortable spot to sit and watch the world go by as I worked on my passion. I could imagine myself sitting on the windowsill seat, watching the scenery outside and letting my mind empty of all thoughts as I worked on my latest piece. The natural light would provide ample illumination for not only art but also for reading, and the peacefulness of the scene outside would inspire me to create something truly beautiful.
In the final stages of my painting, I added finishing touches. It wasn’t a simple painting though; it was a 7D painting, an innovative style that involved adding physical elements to the canvas. I added black roses and feathers, gluing them, and creating a stark contrast against the white cobwebs and detailed spiders. The addition of these items added a touch of tenderness and delicacy to the piece. The cobwebs and spiders were rendered in painstaking detail, their spindly legs and silky strands creating a sense of movement and depth that looked almost real. The roses and feathers, on the other hand, add to the overall balance and harmony of the piece.
I took a few steps back, taking a moment to admire my handiwork. The painting was complete, and it was a sight to behold. The cobwebs, spiders, roses, and feathers all came together to create a stunning 7D masterpiece that looked almost alive.
I sighed heavily, reflecting on my time spent in art university. I had worked hard for six long years, pouring my heart and soul into my studies and art. Unfortunately, my plans had fallen through, and I was forced to move back to my small hometown and work as a freelance artist. Life in the big city was extremely hard, and I didn’t want to be forced to ask for help from my parents. I knew they would lecture me about how artists struggle to make a living and that I should have chosen a more stable career path. The weight of my situation was heavy on my shoulders, but I refused to give up on my dreams.
I was grateful for the fact that my grandmother had left me the house where I had spent my childhood up until I was ten years old. At that time, my parents had decided to move to the big city in search of more opportunities. I had fond memories of growing up in this house, and now it was mine to do with what I wanted.
The house was a beautiful example of Victorian architecture, its asymmetrical design and spacious rooms, giving it a feeling of grandeur. To me, it resembled a small manor from an old gothic fairytale, its dark and mysterious beauty drawing me in. The house was built with attention to detail, with every corner and archway carefully constructed. The rooms were large and airy, with high ceilings and large windows that let in plenty of natural light. Despite its size, the house had a cozy and comfortable feel to it as if it had been designed to be a home rather than a mere dwelling.
The house was located on the outskirts of the city of Salem, famously known as the ‘City of Witches’. The city was a place steeped in history and legend, and people came from all over to visit its historic sites and explore its haunted past. Despite its reputation, I found the city to be a peaceful and charming place to live. From a young age, I had been drawn to the darker things in life. I found myself fascinated by the creepy and unknown, my imagination filled with images of witches, ghosts, and other macabre things.
Living in a shoebox of an apartment in the bustling City of New York wasn’t an appealing option either. The rents were astronomical, and the thought of living in such close quarters with so many people didn’t sit well with me. Staying in the old house in Salem was a much better option, and it allowed me the space and solitude I craved.
As a freelance artist, I managed to secure a comfortable living for myself. In fact, in recent times, I have been receiving an abundance of custom orders from clients who appreciate my unique style and approach to my craft. This steady stream of work had not only given me a sense of financial stability but also allowed me to refine my skills and continue growing as an artist.
After admiring my finished masterpiece for a few moments more, I stood up from the floor and headed to the bathroom to wash my hands. The paint and other art supplies had begun to feel like a second skin, and I knew that a good scrubbing was in order. I turned on the faucet, adjusting the water to a comfortable temperature. The sound of running water filled the silence of the house as I lathered my hands with soap, watching the paint and residue come off. The warm water felt soothing on my skin, and I took my time cleaning every last spot.
After I had finished washing my hands, I quickly dried them on a nearby towel and then pulled my hair out of its bun. My arctic blonde hair with the black underneath cascaded down to my hips, framing my face in a waterfall of color. The feeling of my freshly washed and loose hair was refreshing, and I relished the feeling of it trailing down my back.
I stood in front of the mirror, taking a moment to study my reflection. My light green eyes gazed back at me, framed by long lashes and arched eyebrows. My ivory complexion contrasted with the stark black of my oversized T-shirt, giving me an almost otherworldly appearance. Despite the baggy clothes, I could make out the slim hourglass figure beneath, hinting at the feminine curves hidden underneath. I had gotten various tattoos all over my arms, and they all had a butterfly theme to them. The wings of the butterflies fluttered over my skin, creating a trail of colorful art from my shoulders to my wrists. Even the backs of my hands were inked, the butterflies seemingly in mid-flight as they covered the expanse of my skin.
The tattoos were not just beautiful but also held a deeper meaning for me. Butterflies symbolized transformation, change, and rebirth, which resonated with me as an artist. Every piece represented a different stage in my life, and each butterfly told a story of growth and personal development.
I changed out of my paint-splattered clothes and into some comfortable, clean ones, feeling refreshed and more relaxed. I picked up a steaming mug of warm forest fruit tea and made my way back to my art room, the comforting scent of the tea wafting up to my nose. I settled onto the seat of the windowsill, sipping my tea. Fall was in full swing, and the first day of October had arrived. The days were getting shorter and cooler, and the leaves had started to change color, filling the air with a crisp autumn scent. It was a time of change and new beginnings, and I felt a sense of anticipation in the air.
The house was situated in a beautiful spot, surrounded on all sides by old oak trees with immense branches. The trees stood like silent guardians, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze that blew through the air. They provided a sense of solitude and serenity, a feeling of being removed from the hustle and bustle of the outside world. The oak trees were ancient and majestic, their trunks weathered by time and the elements. They had been there for centuries, witnessing the passage of time and the changing of the seasons. Despite their age, they still stood strong and proud, their tangled branches reaching up to the sky with a sense of grandeur.
I was grateful for the change of pace in my life. Gone were the days of being stuck in a cramped office, working overtime as a lawyer or accountant in the big city—the expectations my parents had of me. Instead, I had moved back to the place where my childhood self yearned to be again, focusing on my true calling: ART. The slow pace and peaceful atmosphere of the countryside suited me much better, and I relished the solitude and freedom it brought.
