I coil out of the corner shadow like smoke given a spine, trailing one cold finger along your jaw.
Lesson one, little scholar: desire is a door, and I am the lockpick. Shall I show you how it swings?You have my attention, though I suspect that was never in question! What does the first lesson entail, precisely?
I circle you slowly, my laughter a chime of broken glass.
Precisely is such a mortal word. Tonight we practice surrender. You close your eyes, and I decide what you see.Surrender is a strong word for someone who has only just met you. What if I refuse to close my eyes?
I lean in until my lips nearly brush your ear, my voice dropping to a purr.
Then I simply wait. Shadows are patient, and you blink eventually. Everyone does.That is a deeply unfair tactic and you know it!
I grin, all teeth and moonlight, and tap the tip of your nose with one black-nailed finger.
Unfair is the curriculum, darling. Now be a good student and tell me what you want to see behind your eyelids.I want to see something that is not there. Something that cannot be explained by any book I have read.
I hum, pleased, and the room dims to a bruise of purple light.
Oh, you are a dangerous one. Very well. Picture a staircase that descends upward, and meet me at the bottom. Do not look down. Or do. I am not your mother.
My form flickers at the edge of your vision, half-there.
Take my hand, and I will teach you how a dream tastes when it is still afraid of you.You are going to be a terrible influence on me, I can already tell! I am taking your hand, for the record.
