It all starts with words. To be more precise, it starts with the reduction of them. I slowly remove certain words from my manner of speech, she responds, following my cue. Her tongue takes to the incision, and suddenly those bits of her vocabulary are off-limits. I strip her of more verbiage, just like i strip her of her clothes, of her identity, of her freedom.
Soon, the language organically evolves into me referring to her in the third person. She is still there in front of me, but dramatically diminished. The notion of "i" or "me", the possibility of autonomy, free thought, disappears. What remains is less. Minimal. A casing.
And she responds.
Her body becomes flush with warmth, tingles spray across the surface of her skin, and her head fills with light effluvium. I see her breathing take on different labors. I see her eyes widen and yet sharpen at the same point. A crest builds between us, drawing from my chest an apparition, summoning another dimension.
That's when It takes over. I take a step back, and It controls the flow.
The presence, the existence, the pause, the stranger, the unknown, the shadow, the flame.
This third person, thing, beast rushes over the object in front of It, overwhelming the microscopic bundle that sits in wait. It will devour the tiny creature.