Tempt My Heart, O Seductress, No More

Her name flitted in and out of his memory, an elusive piece of knowledge that he could not control, could not grasp. Even then, even without it, she still managed to tantalize him to the very core of his being.

He had not wanted it to happen. He had resisted her advances, tried to push her away with all the willpower he could muster. But he, like countless others before him, were mere pawns to her unstoppable wiles.

She was ever the eternal seductress - beautiful, radiant - always youthful, yet older than years could measure, capable of tempting all from the most powerful to the most pathetic. There were few who could resist her, and even fewer who could control her. And even those who contained their desire for her never forgot the whispered promises of greatness she murmured in the dark.

He tried to remember when her twisted tendrils had first ripped their way into his soul. It was at a very young age that he had first set eyes upon her, and although his body pulsed with awareness at what she had to offer, he was still an innocent, and only eyes of the innocent could truly see her for what she was. Only when more years had passed did he meet her again, and then to the darkening needs of his impending manhood, she was irresistible.

He knew what she wanted, and he set out willingly to give her all he could. The tasks were not too difficult at the start, but the more he lusted for her, the more demanding she became. As the horror of his deeds became apparent, and when his hands were stained red by the constant flow of blood that he drew, he became twisted and broken - a mere shadow of the man he used to bet he could not stop. She had become a part of him, an ever-driving mindset that had merged into his very soul.

He had struggled with this fact for years, trying to shake her influence, her never-ceasing drive that was tearing him apart.

Then it happened. An awareness came upon him, and he left, seeking shelter far away from the influences that would drive him back into her arms. But in his chamber, alone in the dark, he could still feel her call for him, still feel her enticing caresses down his body.

And thus he lay now, on another cold night, alone. For no longer could he stand to have another companion to ease the coldness of his bed or the rigidity of his heart. The walls he had placed around himself to keep her out never let anything else through. He was aware of it, but he was too helpless and too afraid to change it.

Here, in the meager warmth provided by his thin sheets, where the veneer of youthful desire had completely worn away from his person through the years, did he finally jolt with the returned knowledge of her name. As a tear formed and traced its way down his face, he murmured her name, her elusive name, into the silence of the night.

Power.