Covering me with his wings like a hawk protecting his prey, his essence permeating my very bones, his malevolence swelling, pouring over me.
It was the most exquisite thing I have ever experienced.
Must stay focused, ignore the hunger, the need growing inside my groin. Must not allow him to see what he does to me, what fear he inspires with his attentions.
No, he has awakened something in me that relishes the game, the most treacherous goading of this beautiful, winged beast. He shall know true torment when I am done with him – he will know what it means to be denied completely, fully, unconditionally.
He shall be a ghost to me. I will no longer flurry and rage at his presence, will no longer acknowledge his attempts at seduction. No, I shall pass as mist, Cloaked even though it drains me to channel that kind of power for long, yet I will fall dead from exhaustion to deny him the satisfaction of claiming what he so arrogantly thinks is his.
Oh, how my soul seethes with wanton desire to attack and consume, to ride the Winged One to the edge of Heaven and the depths of Hell. I want to feel his chi inside me – all of me – feel it flood as a torrent to my being as the fruits of his own desire ripen and fall. But I must shove that aside for the sake of my sanity, for the sake of my pride (foolish as it may be).
Uriel will not win.
Loki will not have his fun.
I am not some frail golem to toy with, I am the Dark Maid, the Weird Sister of lore and legend- the one who drinks the storm and revels in the beauty of battle and discontent. I am the forest creature stalking her prey, the raven gently rapping, rapping at your chamber door, and I make no apologies, have no regrets.
He wants my mind?
He wants my soul?
I shall give him misery instead.
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