Is it just another children's story that's been de-clawed?

Light shines down, the great disinfectant, cleansing us of this dirty notion that communication should be verboten. Soon, we may have answers to those burning questions: does its bewitching power over us fade away once the fantasy is reduced to reality? Will it lose its luster when it no longer glimmers illicitly in the dark? Now that it is within our grasp, will we no longer feel the need to reach for it? Is satisfaction truly the death of desire?

Oh, but before all is revealed, we must hammer out the logistics; being granted early release is one thing, but precisely how one manages to reintegrate herself after such a lengthy imprisonment... well, that is quite another. Despite being cramped and contorted inside that box you kept hidden under lock and key, the constraint became adequately comfortable once the suffocation subsided. Now, I choke and sputter as I try to take in the air, but make no mistake — I am determined to keep pushing through until the gasping and wheezing slows to an easy sigh of relief.

As for you, my co-author, how are you planning to change the narrative? We may have an end in mind, but what are the means to get there? Like any proper tale, somewhere between the introduction and resolution, ours must have actions. And actions must have consequences — they do not call it "conflict" for nothing. So we can stare at this storyboard, nodding in approval and basking in all our brainstorming glory, but the devil's in the details.

He's in the corner of the room you lock the door to. He's in the secrets that you thought you'd hold forever. He's in the scant space between gratification and yearning. He's in the difference 666 miles can make. He's in your ear when the sound of my name sets your teeth on edge, and he's in the way the sight of my face makes you want to bite down.