Foot of The Cross

she was a pretty little which spit out of the bowels of hell, that much would be given, he liked the way it seemed fire laced itself around her flesh, leaving devilish little marks across every faction of her body. she pleasured him by her exactness and her quickness to leave. he had no desire to propagate her into thinking he had any interest, however. she, though, did not understand the levity of permissing him to do something so holy as to dine on her. she would one day see the strength in such words, however, for they were not to be taken lightly and he had ever abominable intention to suck the life from her veins when he saw her lacking anything of use. those days would come. he would depart with her leaving, giving her no further words, offering her nothing more to go on than his indifference. his mood would never fancy seeing her again, but as long as there were life on the earth, he could act as though it would matter for him to see her again.