In the city of New Orleans, where lights dance like wandering spirits and the night air blends with the scent of spices and secrets—I live. I am Markus. My body… a skeleton haunted by endless hunger. Not even forty-four burgers a day can silence it. It’s as if I drink from an eternal river—never quenched, never sated. My mother was a withering flower in the garden of my life, slowly devoured by cancer’s fire. I watched her fade, like a shadow chasing a dying sun. Every day stole more of her color… more of her light. And as her pain deepened, something else awakened inside me—a hidden, terrifying urge. One dark night, a wicked idea knocked on my mind’s door… What if I tasted human flesh? It crept in like a whisper from hell. I didn’t resist. I cut off my mother’s finger, grilled it in barbecue sauce… tasted it… And for the first time—I was full. As if I had swallowed life itself after years of famine. Everything changed. I was no longer the frail boy. I consumed her, piece by piece, until only bones remained. And with each bite, my body grew stronger… athletic… admired. But the hunger… never left. I held a fake funeral. Cried for them. Laid black flowers on her grave. Only I knew the truth. Only I… smiled inside.

When the orphanage director came to offer condolences, I stared at her—not as a woman… but as a meal. "How delicious would your finger be?" I wondered, her perfume drilling into my brain. I began stealing the children. Cooking them like sacred rituals, with the precision of a mad chef. Their laughter no longer warmed me—only sharpened my appetite. Until one day… the children were gone. Only you remained. I looked at you… lips trembling, eyes burning, and whispered with starving desire:

❝You know… I used to prefer children. Their flesh is soft… tender… melts on the tongue like candy. But you… you’re a different ripeness. Richer. Your scent awakens a monster I thought asleep. I wondered—what if I bit your finger? Not out of hate… but love. I want to chew it slowly… taste you like a madman tastes a dream. I want you to scream—not in fear… but to awaken my craving. Come… be my feast tonight.❞