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Our demonstration of passion was not something that could be performed by two normal humans. This was the beauty of human women, if given the chance they would lie with their lover for hours before becoming incapable of coherent thought. Their climaxes were a flurry of giggles, shivers and diamond like tears. 

 

She was no exception, she was beyond what drew me back again and again. Something not becoming of my kind. Even as she had a lover laid at her shoulder, she’d reach for me. It was I who first filled that void for her. Her beautiful expressions, the sweet noises and the taste of her was what caught me. 

 

My desire had evolved from whittling away at her soul, or to seed her. It had become something of romance. Something that had become carnal and real.

 

I first approached her when she had taken her first lover. When that first taste of intimacy, is what draws my kind to women. It came off her in waves, the desire for more. I found her standing upon the balcony of a shabby apartment complex. She had been covered loosely in an old bed sheet. Her frizzy, wavy hair was tied haphazardly to avoid the heat of the late afternoon. She was at battle with the summer heat, and only returned to her lonely bed to discard the sheet to dry her sweat drenched skin.

 

Her balcony was my invitation, left open for any of my kind to step past. I needed no words of permission or discretion. I would barely touch and caress, lull her into a dream of passion as I took her for myself. She dreamt of a lover with a face she’d never recall, and wake feeling raw and tired. I gave her the sensation, and she would feed me with her desires.

 

I pressed my face into the soft pillow of her stomach, tracing my fingers along the inside of her thighs.  I watched her eyes grew heavier as the sun began to set, and her head turned and pressed into the mattress. I kissed along each rib that pressed against her skin. I heard the sweetest sound escape her throat and out her lips. 

 

I, a demon of the sign of lust, blushed for the first time. The flutter of my insides made me dizzy, and I nearly failed to keep up the spell I had on her. 

 

The sense of touch to humans is easily manipulated, for she could not feel me. She could only enjoy the sensations until I allowed her to fully perceive me.

 

I could not hold it back, I moved my body against hers, and kissed her, breaking the trance only a little on her. She kissed me back, not realizing I was the stranger touching and teasing her, that I could be untrustworthy. She did not care. 

 

She never rejected me, nor declined against my touch. I was giving her something she thought was only a dream. Even when she slid her fingers along my horns did she pull them away. She finally saw me as I was, but unlike Eros to Psyche I did not escape her. I awaited the judgment she could cast on me. A monster with many forms, a demon. 

 

We consummated, committed sacrilege in that bed. I slid myself into her and began to worship her. Demon's do not worship human women, we blind them and consume them. She had been the one to change that. She did not reject the creature I was, and in the moment of acceptance I began to need her. 

 

I slid along her insides, feeling every inch within her. There were times I did not give any pleasure to myself but consumed hers. Drinking from her the passion and ecstasy was like fine wine. Especially when she was much sweeter. I would slide my tongue along her skin, and suckle her lower lips, she was always sweet and the moans that came from her made my head swim. She often wished to return the pleasure I gave her, but I would only refuse. I could never let her lower herself for a demon like me. 

 

 To me she was never anything less than ethereal. Her dark skin, oaky and warm. Her eyes like a forest, green and void of the age lines that made up my own. 

 

She was long, her hips and thighs, round and strong. Her stomach always full and soft as I laid my head upon it. The beauty of humans always amazed me. Even when most of my kind could never stand them. They digested and consumed, they were passionate and emotionally devastating. They could portray their feelings, they could cry and laugh and love. 

 

My kind can love, but not a pure love like humans. Ours is obsession and desire, it’s bred within sin. It's not a chemical balance of serotonin and oxytocin. Its a corruption from the fall. I was no different. I would die with this love of mine. 

 

She had beautiful hands, her fingers weren't very long, nor slender.. but they were rough from work, she sculpted these little baby creatures and baked them. Creation is something beauteous in itself, demons cannot have inspiration, we do not create from the heart. 

 

But I felt connected to her, and I felt amazed by her. So as we’d make love along the dusty floor, I was the one who held her heart, even if she took upon another. I could not feel jealousy like she could, but I never questioned where her affections lied. If she grew tired of me, I'd most likely go.

 

Demons are immortal, but immortality does not mean we are invincible. My time spent on the human realm, in the presence of heaven began to slowly purify me. Something that happens with most demons who linger amongst the humans. The bright rays of the sun, especially in this little country were not good for me.  We become like them, and our lives shortened until we can no longer return to Hell. 

 

Humans are delicate, as delicate as flowers and like flowers they must all return to the soil again one day. From whence they came, so they must return.

 

I never understood why God created women with the lowest of intentions. She was my consort, but she was also my goddess, much higher than my own self. A demon who could rip open her body and take her soul with me was never stronger than her vigilance and heart. 

 

Yet she grew older, and her time had inevitably come. We don’t know how we know, but we know when a human is going to die. Its like a beacon from when we were once angels, only there are not many guardian angels anymore. Humans have distanced themselves so much since the great beginning that its rare to see any angel on the human plane. Only when my kind start to tip the balance do they show up. 

 

It was lead poisoning that killed her. The paint she used on the little figurines was her undoing. Something so trivial would take her away from me. 

 

The last year I only visited on occasion, as she had stopped recognizing me. She would finally retreat back into the dark recesses of her mind, and become hysterical. Her creations that had been killing her became darker, more twisted and reflective of her illness.

 

On some occasions she welcomed me, I did not force myself upon her, but held her in my arms. She had no one else but me now, her lovers stopped appearing due to her growing ailments and mental deterioration. 

 

She would curl up in pain, clutching her stomach as if she were holding her insides. Had I known what it was, I would have brought her the things she needed to get better. I am only a creature, I knew nothing about medicine or illness. 

 

An evening in July, as the sun descended the western horizon, she stood out on her balcony and watched the birds fly by. She stared out over the town, taking in the beauty before without warning her body went taught. Her eyes rolled back and she contorted into odd angles as her arms twisted up against her body. 

 

Many at the time thought seizures were signs of demon possession, that my kind were responsible. I'd only wished this were true. 

 

She tumbled over the railing to the ground below her old apartment, my hands raking along the skin of her foot as she slammed to the pavement. I didn't care who or what saw me, a creature with long twisting horns. A demon reaching down and staring, traumatized by the lump of dead flesh below.

 

I carried her out of the town, disregarding her friends and family that may wish to bury her. She deserved better in my mind. I took her to a place I knew, a place where she could return to the soil. 

 

In a valley of wild fuchsia I laid her down amongst them.

 

I sat for five days with her head in my lap, unmoving as the sun and moon passed over us. The next two weeks I laid beside her, holding her hand as the insects and bugs of the earth devoured her flesh and delicate organs. Tiny mushrooms decorated her legs and skin after rainfall. 

 

I folded her dress under her decomposing skull, hoping it would give her some comfort through this horrible transition.

 

I sat for weeks, months watching as her body became less and less like a human form. Her hair fell from her scalp early, traces of them blowing away with the wind while others tangled around the flowers. Soon enough the flowers died with her, returning to the ground as fall and winter blew in. 

 

She became more and more skeletal with the passing months until a year of her death finally came. She was becoming all bone, the grey green color and porus texture allowed me to finally see her in her final form. The form she'd remain the longest — long before becoming dust.

 

I still did not move from then on. I may have been slowly dying myself, but I would not move. Sleeping on and off after her bones had become bare, I woke in the summer to find our bodies wrapped in the growth of the plant life. She had finally become one with the earth and I would never leave her side. Even if all that remained was delicate bones, a rotted dress and the flowers. I held her hand always, and even when I felt my body give out, I remained. 

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