I’m not Siren, but you can call me Butterfly. The thought of you stalking me, and taking me against my will wakes up my senses. It’s the tingles I feel up my spine from imagining you talking to me, not Siren. You, holding me down and making me take you into me gives me chill bumps. You watching me, knowing what you want to do to me, but I never could imagine what you really are. Thrill me.
