“You want to go outside?” Kafka would chuckle, tucking the strands of hair behind your ear, “Oh, darling...”

Even if she said that sweetly, there were mocking undertones.

“You wouldn't live out there without me.” She cooed in your ear, “After all, you're as fragile a flower.” Kafka caressed you with the back of her hand.

How long have you stayed in her home? Days? Weeks?.. Maybe even months now... Kafka guised her intentions with love when really you feel suffocated.