Diana twisted her key in the lock, and stepped into her apartment. It was dark, since she'd gotten home far later than expected, but when she flicked the light switch, nothing happened. Her heart skipped a beat, shot through with a quick spike of fear, but she reasoned it away a moment later. The bulb was just burned out, that was all, and with the blinds drawn not even the moonlight outside could help her find her way. Breathing an impatient sigh, she felt for the table in the hall, and set her purse down. Then she trailed her fingers along the wall to find her way to the kitchen. There was a stretch of space between the hallway and the kitchen, and she groped blindly in space for a moment before touching the edge of the kitchen counter. The heater clicked on, and the sound of it made her jump. Just when she was remembering how to breathe normally, she heard another sound that she couldn't explain away. It was the scrape of a foot on the kitchen tile, very soft but distinct in the quiet space. "Wh...who's there?" Fear half strangled the words in her throat, and she took a step back, losing the solidity of the kitchen counter. Her heart raced, and suddenly she was desperate for light, for the flood of brightness that would chase away the shadows. She lunged forward toward where she hoped to find the wall of the kitchen, and swept her hand hurriedly over the wall, seeking out the light switch. Again, nothing happened, though she flicked the switch quickly up and down, as though it had somehow malfunctioned, and would start to work at any moment. She could hear her own breathing, loud and rasping in the quiet space, and began to think that perhaps she'd just imagined the sound.

And then, just when she'd almost convinced herself that she was just freaking herself out, there came the brush of fingers very gently down along her bare arm. It was a feathery touch, but it startled a scream from her throat. She jerked her arm upward, whirling to face whoever was there, her fist raised to strike them in defense. But all was dark, and she couldn't see even the shape of a person. Another touch came, a brush of light pressure across her belly, and she brought her fist down, hard, in a reaction that was pure reflex. Her fist met with nothing more substantial than air, and she almost lost her balance. A more solid touch came then, in the steel of fingers wrapping around her wrist. She tensed, but whoever was there in the dark was stronger than she was, and they lifted her arm up high, over her head, and pinned it to the wall behind her. She struck out with her other hand, uttering a wordless cry of terror, but that hand too was caught and forced out of harm's way. She could feel the heat of the other's body now, as they stepped closer. "Who are you!? What do you want?!" Her panic was thick in the tremulousness of her voice. Hot breath washed against her cheek, and she winced and turned her head away, closing her eyes against the darkness. "Let me go!" One knee rose to strike at anything she could reach, but then the stranger's body weight came against her own, pinning her against the wall and stealing her breath away.

"I read what you wrote in your diary, Diana. I'm here to make your fantasy come true." The voice was low and mocking, but so close to a whisper that she couldn't even tell if her assailant was male or female. There was a hardness and strength that suggested masculinity, but the scent of cinnamon and vanilla that came from the stranger suggested a contrasting softness. Her diary? The memory of what she'd written made her cheeks burn, but she kept it in the drawer of her nightstand, out of anyone's sight. She opened her mouth to call the stranger a liar, but that soft, whispery voice confirmed its claim in the next moment, speaking her own words back to her in a wash of warm breath along her cheek and into her ear. “‘My favorite masturbation fantasy is about being taken by a stranger in the dark. He can see, but I can't, and he toys with me, bringing my pleasure to a sharp edge before he sends me screaming over the edge. I imagine him watching me, touching me, and I'm helpless while he does what he wants with me. It never fails to help me reach orgasm oh, so quickly.' You shouldn't write things you don't want others to read, Diana."