Hunger, cravings satiated to be felling with things her mind could supplement no longer. At first, it was something simple small, wanting to dream, then it grew, wanting to chat. One night she lay alone dark, her heart felt an all familiar pressure, it wanted to be fed, so fed it she did, and she fed it well. Too well. 

She gave into its hunger time and time again till even that can't be fulfilled, echo's of its touch, its lust. Things she didn't quite hear but understood. It called to her, filling her mind with vague thoughts and fussy images, all too blurred to decipher, not that she needed to, she knew what it wanted. It wanted feeding. 

At first if not satisfied it fed off her thoughts, memory's of its last time, then it slowly made her feed it herself, doing things, things she'd never had an interest in, things she never wanted to do. The first time it called, it called for blood, the longer she denied its thirst the more it demanded, pushing to the point of not caring who's blood she spilled, it just wanted the feeling of the warmth of someone's life draining from them, the stickiness as it clotted. But one night she fed it with something else, something it liked much more, something lewd, it didn't ask for blood after that, it asked for ecstasy. The warmth of another's breath blowing across warm flushed skin. 

At this point, it didn't care how it was fed, just that it was kept to a steady pace. And the steady pace she served, she enjoyed the story and the passion, though it made her lonely knowing she'll never feel another's caressing embrace. It on the other hand was fed frequently enough from her, too frequently. Its demands kept her away from other things. As this went on, eventually she ran out of things to feed. 

So she went looking for more.. And more..... And more... curiosity got the better of her time and time again, and each time she gave it something new to feed on, something new to demand. 

So now she sits there, laying in silence as her mind jumbles the things it's read the things it's seen. It grumbled, satisfied with her surplus of food, but still demanding more for the story wasn't over. As her hands moved along the many changing keys, she writes her story, her mind. Of how she was a girl, who fed into a creature's desires, and in doing so trapped herself in its grapes, never truly able to escape. She sat there, the click of the keys with every movement, as it called her. Telling her, if they won't give her something to feed it, why doesn't she?