Pardon Me, I Must Be Going.

"He will love me when the horns start to show. Mother says we should start to see them by next fall. He will adore me when my pigment changes and the color leaves my eyes. He will love me always. I know it. From the minute I saw on him on the subway car, staring  awkwardly at the weird stain in the corner of the neighboring seat, he was mine. Father thinks him odious, boring, and easily replaceable. I happen to oppose everything Father says, simply for the thrill of it, so his dislike is all the more evidence of our perfection for one another.
He will love me when others cower at my feet, afraid and broken. Mumbling of days long since past, begging for my mercy. He will stand unflinchingly by my side. He loves me in what some might call an "inescapable fashion". I quite like the sound of that. Inescapable. I suppose such devotion is upsetting for his house harpy, or "wife" as some know her. What a retched thing she is. Crying all the time about love lost and my cruelty as though I am to blame for his feelings. This is fate! The cosmos! Destiny! She was but a pit stop on his way to me and she has overstayed her welcome! I wish he would dispose of her. Perhaps I will make him do that tomorrow, proof of his undying love. Oh that is a grand idea! A perfect Valentine's Day gift.
He is mine, mine, mine… goodness, look at the time! Pardon me, I must be going. It has been lovely chatting with you."