There has long been a facination with the picture of killing Cracky-chan expressed here at .71, and even early on during her first appearance on /b/.

I find it odd, then, that while the idea of killing Cracky is quite abhorrent to me... the idea of her killing me holds a certain facination and even moments of what I will term "sexual glee."

Last night I had a dream about Cracky, shifting between the sailor-schoolgirl and broken angel costumes, advancing on me with a large (50% bigger than a butcher knife) shard of clear broken glass. She was bleeding as it cut into the soft, pink flesh of her left palm.
(Lia isn't left handed is she?)

I was backing away more amused than frightened or suicidal. In my right-side periphrial vision I saw the advancing outline of a greyish stucco and brick building that I so associate with suburban England.

Suddenly I wanted to be trapped by her. "Ooops! I missed the wall I was supposed to back myself into."

I smiled a little to her apologetically and began to wheel myself around 75 or so degrees that I might back myself into the building. Her smile shifted somehow from quizzical ("What are you doing?") to gently understanding, to feral as she came to grok my purpose.

She advanced on me... hopping purposefully from one stepping stone of the tiny, neglected garden that abbutted the house to another to avoid muddying up her feet and legs, closing the distance as I finally pressed my back up against the welcomecold touch of masonry.
The brick was cold against my hands and the backs of my forearms. I tilted my head back ever so slightly, exposing and offering my carotid artery to her.

Locking eyes, I had the errant thought that they were the same grey-blue color as the sky behind her.

Then the pain came. Have you ever been cut deeply by glass before? The slash has a sort of itchy chewing-on-tinfoil feel.

"This is what is feels like to be penetrated by the Sky Queen."

Was it my blood that painted her face, or hers? Does it matter? I distinctly remember the drifting-away lightheadedness making me a little giddy as my vision dimmed.
A moment before fading out she broke eye contact, looking up into nowhere-in-particular as women are wont to do when applying makup around the eyes, wiping the blood in rather than off.

Painting my death-mask on her face.
I have an erection