The beautiful maya-blue flowers on the teacup shimmering in the luminescent light. Human fingers skimming her soft outer shell and caressing her handle. She does not like this. She never consented. The tea went from pink to black. She gave up, and she stopped trying, and then the teacup shattered.

The magnificent white teacup with denim-blue valley designs. She was an actor. Always pretended to be someone on stage and showed her true self at night. She was a star in and out of the spotlight. Everyone loved her. He loves her. He loved her enough to try and have her, like the first, but she fought back so he killed her instead. 

The innocent baby-pink flowers aligned with delicate gold shown on the teacup. The oh-so-gorgeous flowers were his favorite part. He always searched for her in crowds. He liked to follow her home while staring at each petal. He scared her, and out of fear she left the city and went far, far away. Luckily, she was never harmed by the kettle’s touch.

The cream kettle has harmed all these cups. He had chipped or broken them completely. He turned their tea from a shiny color to black. He ruined them each in different ways. He was their mentor. He taught them all the History of Art. He was supposed to be someone they could trust. Instead, he used that trust to pull them close, to learn things about them no one else knew, to see their creative abilities, and to try and “love” them. He wanted each teacup to feel the sensation he could give them. To crave more of him, but for some reason, they resented him or ran away from him, and he didn’t understand it. The kettle never thought he was doing anything wrong. He thought this was what “love” looked like, but the kettle was wrong, and now many are dead because of John Kettle searching for his teacup girls.