“It was another cold rainy autumn night. I was finally alone at my beach-front house in the Hamptons. Having driven here directly from the reception in the city, I slipped off my high heels, lit the fireplace and opened a bottle of my favorite wine. The beach house is my sanctuary from the world, the place where I can come to relax and decompress from my busy workweek, a place where I can finally allow my crimson desires free rein, and for a moment imagine that my darkly foreboding damsel in distress fantasies can become reality.”

“My fantasies take numerous forms, monstrous creatures brutally using me till death for their foul pleasure, sadistic serial killers out in the darkness sharpening their knives as they wait for the perfect moment to brutally butcher me, or perhaps a modern-day Marquis de Sade eagerly anticipating the sound of my desperate screams as he spends the coming days diabolically torturing me to death simply for his darkly evil amusement.”

“Of course, all my darkest fantasies do have one thing in common, blood, pool of it, buckets of it, crimson blood-soaked fatal desires...”