SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES
She remembers quite vividly how he had taken her to her knees.
How the ecstasy of it had been far greater than anything that came after it.
It licks at her psyche like a drug now, itching into sharper focus with every subtle tug. It almost draws her to him. It almost curls her around him. It almost makes her beg.
But she is a proud thing, Gospel. And she will not grovel now and she is certain that he would not ask it of her. What an unattractive thing, she thinks, all that weakness. There is no room for it here in this darkness, the charged air between them. She presses her tongue against a fanged tooth and lets the venom chase a tremor through her.
She does wonder what he’s playing at, why he presses her so insistent for an answer. It feels like a game that she will almost surely lose, but she merely watches him a beat longer and then tilts her head, flashes him a viper’s smile. If it is a trap then she will go willingly.
Perhaps this is her cross to bear, how terribly easy it is for him to sway her. If only because she is still chasing that ecstasy.
“I’ve been fine,” she says. “And you, Stave? How have you been?”