By Rashaun Stewart
A cacophonous, cavernous creaking preceded the opening of the devil’s lair. Chiselled cheeks crinkled crudely into a smirk. A large, callused hand reached upwards to ruffle resplendent locks dark as the ebon waters of the Styx.
“It’s good to see you again, Carol.”
Every honeyed syllable sinuously slithered past full lips. Teeth gritted, brows furrowed, face flushed, I glowered. Contrasting pools of midnight obsidian and pellucid cerulean—crinkled with mirth—stared back.
“Just one more time.”
Even to my own ears, it sounded plaintive. I strode briskly past him, quickly divesting myself of clothing. The door closed with an echoing finality.
It’s a tough habit to break.
I C. Or maybe, I don’t. How and why does she keep returning? Jerry
Better the devil you know 🙂
Great use of language
Edgar Allen Poe would approve