Death in silk

The arachnian world is as far from me as life in Antarctic icy abysses. Well, that's what I thought before starting this serie…
I began with small steps, without really having empathy for these initially unattractive beings.
I do not kill hairy life suckers, I let them live even if sometimes they give me chills.
I like to observe them. They do not make noise, they are fierce and fall back into the black holes of their cobwebs at the slightest alert.
Of an admirable discretion, they swaddle me, wrap me up.
If I had to choose, I do not know to whom I identify myself the most - theirs or their prey, I have no clear answer.
Anyhow, kill or die in silk are two very similar lots. Most of the time, the slayer dies in his own trap among the remains of his past feasts.
I especially like urban spiders who find gloomy shelters for their fine weavings "genocidal" mausoleums.
The country spiders who's cobwebs sparkle in the sun and shiver at the slightest breeze, seduce me less, too blithe…
Impressed by the tragic beauty of these universes, I dream of having eight legs, gently kill my victims to feed me of them in a ultimate fellatio...