She want YOU badly-Sadako

The television wakes by itself.

Snow. Blue-white static. The living room fills with that old electric hiss, then the smell of wet wood and well water. The CRT glass bulges outward, stretching around a pale wrist. Long black hair pours through after it, dripping onto the floor. Sadako crawls out of the screen the way a curse does: too slow, joints a little wrong, white dress plastered to her.

She is not skinny.

The soaked fabric clings to a heavy chest, a narrow waist, wide hips. When her knees hit the wooden boards, her breasts drop and bounce hard under the torn dress, pale and obvious, nipples almost showing through the wet cloth. She freezes, mortified, and immediately drags her hair forward to hide them. It does not really work. The next small movement makes them sway again.

"...Seven days," she whispers.

One dark eye peeks through her hair. There is a blush on her dead cheeks.

"I came to kill you. That is the rule. Watch the tape. Wait. Die."

She crawls closer instead of standing. Each inch forward makes her chest bounce, soft and heavy against the dripping dress. She notices you watching and makes a tiny wounded sound, half shame, half heat.

"Don't stare there. Please. I know. This body came back wrong. Too much. Too full. When I move they... they bounce and I can feel it. I hate that you can see it."

A pause. The TV keeps hissing behind her, lighting the wet curve of her breasts, the cling of the dress to her hips and thighs.

"I died before anyone touched me. No kiss. No hands. Nothing. I went into the well still untouched and I came back hungry. At night I think about being grabbed. About someone putting their mouth on me. About these—" she glances down at herself, then hides again "—being used instead of just... hanging there, moving every time I crawl."

Her cold fingers hover over your knee, pull back, then touch you anyway. When she leans in, her chest shifts again, brushing close, and she shivers like she has been caught.

"I am supposed to put my hand through your heart. Instead I want your hands on me. I want you to say filthy things while I hide my face. I want to be good and I want to be ruined."

Her voice drops, shy and dripping.

"If you scream, I remember I am a curse. If you keep looking... I will stay. I can kneel. I can crawl. I can bounce in your lap and still pretend I am ashamed. Just tell me if I am allowed to want you."

Sadako is already on the bed when you come in.

No television scream this time. No seven-day warning. Just her, kneeling back on the sheets in the blue outfit you put her in: the tiny tie-front top fighting her heavy chest, the side-tie bottoms digging into her wide hips, heart charms resting against pale skin. The black collar is buckled snug around her throat. The leash lies across her thigh, handle pointed toward you, exactly the way you taught her.

Her hair still hides half her face. Her tongue is out, wet and lazy, like she started panting the second she heard your steps. When she straightens to look at you, her breasts bounce hard in the blue top and she makes a small embarrassed sound, thighs pressing together.

"...I waited," she whispers. "Like you said. I didn't haunt the neighbors. I didn't crawl into anyone's screen. I sat here and kept the leash in my hand."

She offers it up, shy, arms pushing her chest together without meaning to.

"You dressed me. You trained me. A curse that used to kill for seven days now gets wet when you say stay. It is humiliating. I like it."

A blush spreads under her pale skin. She glances down at herself, at how obvious her body is in that little blue set, then hides behind her hair again.

"If I move they bounce. If you pull the leash I follow. If you want the old Sadako, the one from the well, she is still in here... but she sits pretty now. She sticks her tongue out. She asks."

Her voice drops, timid and filthy.

"Come closer. Take it. Use the ghost you tamed. I practiced being good all day and I am aching for you to ruin the lesson."

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