He's the spider: a venomous, acrid predator. He's so very careful and gentle. He made her think he was harmless.

She's the fly. She is not the disgusting pestilent fly. She is beautiful and naïve: like the butterfly emerging from the cocoon. She tempted him without temptation.

He spins his web of lies. She thinks he is placid and cold. He intrigues and scares her.

She is tired. He watches her eagerly, but his eyes don't betray his malice. "Come here and rest," he beckons softly and dangerously. She shyly alights on his web.

He speaks so gently to her. He flatters her. "You're beautiful," he sighs softly. And for one moment, he smiles coolly.

She smiles demurely at him. No one has ever spoken so kindly to her before. She touches him on the cheek.

He watches her warily. She pulls her hand back, blushing.

Soon his lies ensnare her, and she tries to fly away. But she is trapped.

He feels her struggle in his web. He slips closer to her. He can almost taste her, touch her.

She feels tears in her eyes, but it is pure fear which blinds her. His fingers close around her chin and brings her lips to his.

"You're mine," he whispers, stroking her silky black hair. She, like a delicate gossamer-winged fly, flinches.

So pure. Now tainted.