Kafka stood there, just staring at you, knife in hand. She had killed your family—and there you stand, smile on face.

“What do you want from me? Why don't you run from me?”

She asked, as if horrified.

“Why aren't you scared of me?! Why do you care for me?!”

Kafka asked, tears of horror threatening her. She has tried to get rid of you countless times—martyr, destruction, everything. She needed you gone. Your insanity, your obsession.. she couldn’t handle it.