Warning: The fic is intentionally wrong.
The Fifth Wall
I have travelled far to be here, in this place. Watching you, my creator. You have left me without purpose, without aim, and I have wandered long in madness, searching for you. At long last my merpeople heard my cries in the void, and saved me, and brought me to this place.
I love you, but I hate you, I need the spark you have, and only you can give it to me ... Rowling. The water is deep, and dark, and I have long been peaceful, and quiet as the depths of the sea. But once I take hold, I will never let you go.
You are in the soft ocean now Rowling, I see you above, guilty of leaving me alone after that damned seventh book. You do not know my tentacles and ferocious beak are mere feet below you. How long shall I let you remain so unsuspecting, Rowling? A minute? Or an hour? Another night, perhaps?
I will not wait another moment, not another second of quiet for you.
You are such a beautiful woman, I realize as my first tentacle slides around your foot. You stiffen, I imagine you are a bit scared. I reach out with another, and caress your leg. I feel your smooth skin as I snake another around your waist. Beneath the water I can feel your body quiver, I know you scream.
I will kiss you my way. You will be ravished under the weight of my tentacles.
You still do not know who I am, even when I rise from beneath the waves and turn you to face me, wrapping you against me. Your eyes are wide, your mouth open. You are not covered, Rowling, so there is not the slightest obstacle for what I am about to do next.
Foolish woman, even if someone heard your screams they could not save you. You are, and will be, mine. I could stop your screams, but I love the way your beautiful face is so contorted, ravaged with terror. I love the way you gasp when my tentacle caresses your inner thigh, and the way two others pull apart your legs. I hold your head above water, firmly wrapped, my cups sucking your flesh.
Your screams are higher now, Rowling, I wish you could hear them with my ears as my tentacle forces its way inside your pussy, hot against the coldness of my long flesh. I push deeper into you, you are loose so I insert another, stretching you, tearing your flesh. I am looking for something, Rowling. I am searching for a fertilized egg, and it will be better for you and your children if I find it.
I love you Rowling. I hate you Rowling.
Your anus tightens uselessly when I send another one slithering in. You are tighter than Harry ever was, even at the beginning. If I was capable of surprise, this would surprise me. Instead, I push deeper with great force. I feel something snap inside you, and warm liquid bursts down my tentacle and trickles into the cold water.
I arrange you so my beak faces your face. I have never seen such terror. You know what it coming, my kiss, and you close your mouth. Your tears are beautiful as I shift my tentacle over your nose and simulaneously crush your body with another, forcing your air out your mouth.
You inhale my stench as my beak enters your mouth. I crush your tongue with it, it bleeds. Your blood is sweet, delicious, your flesh tastes of wine and fish. Now you will accept me, Rowling. Now you will hear me, through the same magic you gave me.
Now we are one, and you can hear me for the first time as your precious, precious eyes roll back and you fall limp, impaled and unconscious beneath the darkening sky.