He couldn’t distinguish his thoughts from reality. He was certain that he was carrying a second personality. Not like the disorder, but like a separate being; hitching a ride. It called itself Scorpius. It was hungry. It craved young flesh. He hated Scorpius. At least that is what he told himself. His guilt at allowing Scorpius to sneak into the little girl’s rooms at night and do what it pleased with them was heavy. But what could he do? Scorpius was a God. Who could stand up to a God. He certainly couldn’t. So, why try?
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