I can hear her sigh softly as she caresses me. I curse myself—how embarrassing it was for me to have such flaky skin, of all times! But, no, she doesn’t seem to mind. Indeed, she holds me closer to feel my warmth.

Suddenly, she draws a wicked knife from a nearby drawer. Serrated, with newly sharpened edges. I still. She glides over as smoothly as ever, but there’s a new aura in her presence—menacing?

She whips the knife to me and makes three quick slits in rapid succession. I try to howl, but no sound emanates. She draws me closer to her teeth. “Yes,” she squeals, and takes an enormous chunk out of me.

Pain! Excruciating! It holds my very being, right down to the core! Can she not understand? Why does she do this? I gasp and fall back to hot metal.

She jumps over, knife discarded, and takes another chunk out. “Oh,” she cooes through a mouthful, “there’s absolutely nothing like homemade bread, straight from the oven.”