As she chopped away the strawberries with the grinder, she felt a consummate power overwhelm her. The slices were no longer a benign fruit, but the limbs and throats of those who’d wronged her. Cluck cluck cluck… as the blade worked its way and drops of milk flew about; she saw not them but blood that swirled around her. Soon she sipped in mouthfuls of the milk shake, or rather their life blood.
As the red liquid trickled down her chin and clothes; she gave a sigh of deep delight, even licking her lips in mad ecstasy. Her happiness was that of a woman who at long last had avenged her sufferings.
Beneath our charming miens, behind the veiled secrecy of our private chambers, we are all little fiends my dear friend. Tell me, are we not?
– Shreya Mishra
kahaniwaale - the art of storytelling 