The Mistress always felt so used.

So uncomfortable.

So unlovable.

Things never went well for her in past relationships, especially with The Warden after the Spanish Flies got her at that party.

She was currently in bed rubbing her eyes with a tissue, her pink glasses on the desk nearby her bed.

She had a bunch of blankets over herself, trying to calm down— but nothing seemed to help.

The Mistress craved it all.

Love, affection, touch, and actual love. But all she gotten in return was just pure lust.

Poor her.