Wielding her weapon, Margaret felt immense power surge through her veins. Everything rested on her — she could make or break Larry. She could poke, tease, torture him even, and no one to intervene.
She could control him, discipline him, and boss him. Like a puppeteer she could play with his arms and legs, like a sore partner she could mess with his soul, like a disowning parent she could stare until he withered in shame.
She had created him, and she had every right to destroy him. After all, she wouldn’t be the first author to torment her characters.