beauty’s cruel face

it is all he remembers.

huddled in the corner of the dark, dank room, he tries not to feel. not to think. not to engage in the same battle yet again.
sanity versus longing.
a hopeless attempt.
despite his efforts, the image of her is still fresh on his mind; no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to shake it off.

her eyes.
those cold, feline eyes staring down at him.
so beautiful.

he shivers in the darkness.
no light. time does not exist.

has it been days now? months? years?

he can’t remember.

the soft shuffle of bare feet on naked earth makes him sit up straighter. he braces himself for yet another encounter with her.
the woman.
the Goddess.

the battered, wooden door opens agonizingly slow.

it is her.

taking her time, she steps into the room, placing her bare feet gracefully on the hard-packed earth. her legs, long and slender; playfully covered by the thin, silky gown caressing her skin; her body, a silhouette, illuminated from behind.
he swallows, licks his parched, chapped lips.

the immaculate, pale skin of her arms and chest seems to glow as she bends down to him, her hand moving up to his shoulder ever so slowly.

cold. so cold.

her frozen lips slightly parted, she delicately runs her slender fingers from his shoulder down to the center of his chest.
he shivers.

he feels neither thirst, nor hunger. neither exhaustion, nor pain.
he feels only her touch.
he craves… only¬†her.

so this is it. the end of all things.

and as her lips draw closer to seal his fate, he loses himself in her cold, feline eyes.
there will be no dawn tomorrow.