He was beautiful, she would not deny him that; especially with him standing there, staring down at the love-hungry grotesques kissing his feet. She often wonders how someone could live up to such a stature. She, herself, would fall from such a weighted fixation.

And could it possibly be that he, this devil-like creature, could ever live amongst the weak, the frail, the putrid? She'd like to believe he loved them back but she knew better. Among his riches and possessions, all he really wanted was their affection… their addiction.

He loved once but never again. She did not dare to blame him, although it was entirely of his consequence. Oh, yet still she shall not blame him. Love is not for the weak, the frail, the putrid.

It was summer, late, and he was walking down the darkened corridors of his conscience. And there she was flickering like the wick of a candle. She was speechless in front of him. He presumed such a response as a marvel of his beauty, his glamour, when in all veracity it was meant merely as a tacit retort. She knew him well, too well for his liking yet he had always remained in raptures with her. Perhaps it was her mannerisms, her defiant certainty, the manner she strutted away from him with poise and valor.

No one had ever done that, never.

He refused to acknowledge her through conversation. It was so much more meaningful when he spoke with his eyes, those crimson, circular cavernous trenches. One could see vividly the eyes of the nations he had conquered with his sweet romances and delicately persuasive tongue. He was a charlatan, the paramount of Hell's peak. And a life to him was a life alone. He refused accompaniment by the mere flaw of his pride despite his yearnings.

However, over time, he continued to diminish. Love-thirsty more than ever, he approached her, head high with arrogance and charms ready to lure from the orifices of his desire.

And it became for the first time, his twine was no longer a bounder of fools.

Curses arose from his serpentine manner and he breathed fire yet at this juncture, in his heart, remained a simple, cohesive thought, a wavering fear that had crept over him all this time.

He countenanced not to lose.

And so, he said the three most honest and sincere words of his godforsaken life, I love you.

And still, he lost.