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The sound of glass shattering woke her from her dreams, but she didn't bother to get up and find out what had done it- because she already knew. This wasn't exactly the first time it had happened. So, she just laid quietly in her bed and waited for it to be over and done with- just like the hundreds of other times before. Before long, she heard the telltale sounds of someone climbing through her bedroom window, and walking across her floor. She didn't move a muscle as the person who had broken into her home approached her bed- sometimes he just left her alone, and she hoped he would tonight. The feeling of cold air hitting her skin shattered her hopes as she soon came face to face with the person she didn't want to see or have around.

"Slenderman sent me here for the night, so make room." The somewhat irritated voice of none other than Masky said sternly as he eyed the woman lying calmly in her bed. In response, said woman shifted to give him enough room to lie in bed, but she made no move to complain or resist. She knew better than to resist by then- what was happening occurred on a weekly basis with her. That was the price she had to pay for being allowed to live. She'd discovered the hideout of the creepypasta by chance, and rather than kill her on the spot, Slenderman made her a deal. The deal was that she become a servant of the creepypasta- namely, Masky, who lacked a servant of his own. She agreed, but only because she had the will to live. Since then, she'd been in charge of getting the proxy his supplies, housing him when he needed a place to hide, getting him his pills, and etc. She hated every second of it- so did the others. Yes, others. Every creepypasta had at least ONE normal person acting as their servant- their link to the outside world. They all gathered for meetings and such from time to time, and the one thing they all had in common was a hatred for what they had to do. She shifted further way from him as he climbed into bed- she didn't want to have any physical contact with him. Why? Because he was mean. She'd learned the hard way that he was more than willing to smack her if she acted out of place- she'd had to go to college hiding her bruises on more than one occasion.

As soon as he settled into bed beside her, she reached for the blanket and pulled it back over her- he did likewise to keep from getting cold. Since she wasn't facing him, she couldn't tell if he was wearing his mask or not. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn't- but, when he didn't, he typically tried to talk to her. That never went well. He'd ask her questions and eventually, she'd give an answer he didn't like- then he'd punish her. Usually he just smacked her, but sometimes, he took her to "Work" with him then made her clean up his mess when he was done. On those days, she'd return home to spend an entire night sitting in a tub of cold water. Those were the days when she most questioned why she was still alive in the first place.

"(Y/N), did you get me my pills?" Masky asked after a minute or so of lying in silence- great, that meant he didn't have his mask on. Meaning she was either going to get hit, or forced to clean up a bloodbath.

"Yes sir, I got them this morning." (Y/N) said through gritted teeth as she clenched her fists into the sheets. She really didn't want to talk to him. She didn't want him there- she wanted him to just leave her alone and let her live in peace. Sadly, she knew that wasn't going to happen. She felt him stir beside her- he had more than likely sat up. She could feel him giving her the evil eye.

"I don't like your tone of voice." Masky said in as calm a voice as he could muster, though she could clearly hear the anger radiating in his voice. Since she was pissed off herself, she couldn't prevent herself from snapping at him.

"Well, I don't like being your slave but I gotta fucking deal with it! Just go to sleep you-!" (Y/N) tried to speak only to be cut off when he slammed his fist against her side roughly. The next thing she knew, he was pressing her against the bed with his hand tightly grasping her throat. She tried to catch her breath, but was unable too because of his grip- if he didn't let her go soon, she'd pass out and probably wind up dead. To make matters worse, she couldn't struggle- he was sitting on her stomach and his knees were pinning down her arms. The most she could do was thrash her legs around in a vain attempt at throwing him off of her. Luckily for her, he loosened his grip to keep from strangling her- but, she'd still have a new bruise to hide in a few days. Then, he lent down so that his face was only an inch away from hers, and he growled.

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