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An even game
He was a man made of shadow, of mist. It was so hard to pin him down, find out at least one fact about him, that he seemed almost like a ghost to her. Each question he answered raised ten additional ones but with no chance for a follow-up. And the harder he was to grasp, the more desperate she was to uncover his truth.
This time I wasn't scared, I was terrified
We've reached a new level of fear play recently. A level on which it starts to be really hard to tell the fantasy from the truth, where the line between them becomes blurry and you start doubting whether what you are doing is really just a game. And now the only thing that I can think of is that I want more.