What you're about to hear is based on actual events.

Listener discretion is advised.

Lamb Corwin checks to ensure that the apartment door is double locked.

It's a rarity that anyone returns home from work early.

His family members are anything but unpredictable.

Still, it's nice to feel sealed off.

He looks over the corpse before him.

She is his possession now, sure, but not entirely his.

That feeling of triumph will only come once he's begun dissecting.

Time is of the essence, so it's not long before he grabs his knife, enhails deeply,

and begins to carve.

It's not an easy thing to remove.

The vagina, but he's confident in his approach.

The trick, it seems, is to go deep.

Extra can always be cleaved away, like pulp from the lid of a pumpkin.

Before long, he's holding his victim's crown jewel before him.

Blood pouring away from it like liquid flames.

Hell has truly visited earth in this moment.

But in the mind of Lamb Corwin, angels are singing.

The electric tone the board gives when he steps into check isn't so much a shine, or a beep,

but more of a low bovine braille.

It's a sound he has no true reference for in the real world, that he's ever heard before,

...