He collected beautiful things. Rare things. He tore them out of their natural habitat and kept them in dead splendor. But I’m not beautiful. I was the disgusting and ugly reality of the world, packaged into one broken human being. He came to kill me. This is his craft. Death. He tore me from my natural environment, from the prison I created, and locked me away with all my beautiful dead things .I hated him. I still hate him. But if I had the choice and the opportunity to leave this cage, return to life, I would still remain undead. In all my disgusting glory. Because my killer can only possess dead things .I am obsessed with someone who is more broken than myself.18+