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Title: The Unlikely Roommate and the Dark Fiction Author
As I settled into my new apartment, a friend whispered to me that I must be in love with the owner of the space – the renowned author Anne Rice. But little did they know, I was terrified that my roommate, the creator of ingenious murders, would, well, kill me.
It’s an understatement to say that moving in with someone who is known for crafting dark fiction, particularly the Ripley series, can be a daunting experience. And, trust me, it wasn’t just the eerie atmosphere or the countless novels scattered across every available surface that had my heart racing – although, that did contribute to the growing unease.
No, it was the author herself who filled me with an unshakeable dread. Not because of her dark subject matter or the unsettling tales she wove (although, those didn’t help). It was something far more personal: her ill-tempered nature.
From the moment I stepped foot into that apartment, I knew we were in for a thrilling ride – but not the kind I would want to experience 24/7. Her sharp tongue and quick wit had me on edge from day one. The first time she snapped at me, the fear began to take root. Each subsequent outburst solidified my terror.
I recall one particular incident when, while attempting to cook dinner, a pot slipped from my grasp, shattering into shards of glass and ceramic debris all over the kitchen floor. Her sharp rebuke still echoes in my mind: “You’re clumsy! You’ll break everything!” The sentiment stung more than it hurt, but I should’ve taken heed – her wrath was not something to be trifled with.
Of course, there were moments when she’d smile and offer words of encouragement, but those fleeting glimmers of kindness couldn’t mask the dark cloud of anxiety that hung over me. It’s a wonder I didn’t develop PTSD from all the times her words cut like razors.
Source: www.dailymail.co.uk
