Super Trick or Treat System

Vasi's testimony part one

For those sweet and strong women who dream of dreaming, I want to tell this story. This is a promise, just like a confession. It must be the last words of a lost person. He doesn't want anything except love and be loved. I'm sitting here trembling, waiting for the night, waiting for the one who came here, Kos, who came to my door again , Took everything I had in exchange for the key to her room.

I am not a brave person, and I have never been: so I am worried about what will happen to me tonight. However, I can't dream of life all the time, just a glimpse of heaven to survive in the dark. Sooner or later, you must tighten the proper waist and get up to find it. Even if it means swapping the world.

I may not make any sense. You are thinking, who are you by chance on this testimony, and you are thinking, who is he?

My name is Oliver Vasi. I am 38 years old now. I was a lawyer until a year or earlier, when I started searching, and it was not until tonight that I ended up with the pimp, the key and the holy relic.

But the story began more than a year ago. It has been many years since Jacqueline Ace came to me for the first time. She came to my office suddenly, claiming to be the widow of a friend of my law school, Benjamin Ace, and when I thought about it, I remembered that face. A mutual friend attending the wedding showed me a picture of Ben and his blushing bride. Here, she is as beautiful and elusive as her photos promised.

I remember feeling very embarrassed during the first interview. She came very busy, but I was very busy. But I was so fascinated by her that I kept the interviews all day on the side of the road. When my secretary came in, she gave me a steely look, as if pouring a bucket of cold water on me. I think I was fascinated from the beginning, she felt the electrical atmosphere in my office. Me, I pretend I'm just being polite to an old friend. I don’t want to think about passion: it’s not part of my nature, so I thought. We know very little about our abilities-I mean really know it.

Jacqueline told me to lie at the first meeting. Regarding the cause of Ben's death from cancer, he talked about my frequency and affection. I think she can tell me the truth at that time and there, and I will wrap it up-I believe I was fully committed from the beginning.

However, it is difficult to fully remember how and when an interest in another person becomes more determined and enthusiastic. Maybe I was inventing her influence on me at the first meeting, just reshaping history to justify my future mistakes. I'm not sure. In any case, no matter when and where it happened, no matter how fast or slow, I succumbed to her, and this thing began.

For my friends or my bed partner, I am not a particularly curious person. As a lawyer, one person spends time in other people’s lives. Frankly speaking, spending eight hours a day is enough for me. When I am not in the office, my pleasure is to make people feel at home. I don't pry, I don't dig, I just take their face as the standard. Jacqueline is no exception. She is a woman, no matter what the truth of her past, I am happy all my life. She has a wonderful Sanfried-, witty, clumsy, slanted. I have never seen a charming woman. She lived with me, married life, etc. had nothing to do with me, this is her history. I am happy to live in the present and let the past die by itself.

Of course, there are holes in her story. As a lawyer, I am trained and skilled in production knowledge, but I want to put my own opinions aside anyway. I feel that she doesn't know me well. But everyone has a secret: I know. I want to let her own her.

I only challenged the details of her pretended life story. When talking about Ben's death, she said that he had got what he deserved. I asked her what she meant. She smiled, smiled, and told me that she felt that there should be a balance between men and women. I let the observation pass. After all, I was obsessed with all hope of salvation at that time. No matter what argument she makes, I am happy to admit it. She is so beautiful, you know. There is no two-dimensional meaning: she is not young, she is not innocent, she does not have the primitive symmetry favored by advertisers and photographers. Her face is obviously the face of a woman in her forties: it was used to laugh and cry, and its usage left a mark. But she has the ability to change herself in the most subtle way, making that face as changeable as the sky. In the early days, I thought it was a makeup technique. But as we sleep together more and more, I watched her in the morning and slept in her eyes. In the exhausted night at night, I quickly realized that there was nothing on her skull, only meat. And blood. What changed her was internal: it was a trick of will.

And, you know, that makes me love her even more.

Then one night, I woke up and she was sleeping next to me. We often sleep on the floor, she prefers the bed. She said that the bed reminded her of marriage. Anyway, she was lying under the quilt on the carpet in my room that night, and I was just out of worship, watching my face sleeping.

If a person is completely dedicated, watching his beloved sleep can be a despicable experience. Perhaps some of you already know that the paralyzed state can only stare at the functions that you cannot query, and cannot enter the mind of another person. As I said, it is a terror for us who dedicated ourselves. At that moment, people know that a person does not exist unless it is related to that face. Therefore, when that face closes his mouth, that kind of character will be lost in his unknown world, making people totally purposeless. Planets without a sun rotate in the dark.

That night, I was like this, looking down at her extraordinary characteristics, and when I chewed on my ruthlessness, her face began to change. She was obviously dreaming; but she must have been dreaming. Her body is moving, her muscles, her hair, and the fluff on her cheeks fluctuate inward. Her lips bloomed from the bones and boiled into a tower of slave-like skin. Her hair hovered over her head, as if lying in the water. The material on her cheeks formed ravines and ridges, just like the ritual scars on a soldier; the inflamed and moving tissue pattern swelled and changed again even if it formed a pattern. This change is a horror to me, and I must have made some noise. She did not wake up, but was closer to the surface of sleep, and the energy came from deeper waters.

You can understand that it was a crucial experience, even though I tried to convince myself that I had never seen it in the next few days.

This work is useless. I knew she had an accident; I was sure she knew nothing about it at the time. I firmly believe that something went wrong in her system, and it’s best to investigate her history before I tell her everything I see.

Of course, after reflection, this seems ridiculous. Think she would not know that she has such power. However, compared to my mistress, it is easier for me to imagine her as a victim of this skill. That's men talking about women. Oliver Vathy and her Jacqueline Ace are more than that. We men, we cannot believe that unless power is a boy, power will never exist happily in a woman. Not real power. Power must be in the hands of men given by God. This is the idiot our father told us.

In any case, I investigated Jacqueline as secretly as possible. I have a contact in York where the couple live, and it is not difficult to get some inquiries. It took my contact person a week to go back because he had to chop off a lot of **** from the police to find out the truth, but the news came and it was very bad. Ben is dead, that's true. But he cannot die of cancer. My contact only got the most vague clues about the situation of the body, but he believed that his body was mutilated. And the main suspect? My beloved Jacqueline Ace. The innocent woman who occupied my apartment sleeps beside me every night.

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