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I need to touch her. I need to feel her against me. I need to erase what any other man has made her feel, to ruin her for even God, until the only one she can pray to is me.
She will be my downfall, because I am just a man, and for her, I am weak.
She’s consumed me wholly. My sickness grows strong in her presence, until I never wish to feel well again.
If she is a succubus, then seduce me. If she is my devil, then I will gladly burn.
Our love hurts so much more.
“I live for you.”
“She may be your wife, but she is my soul,”
“I won’t tell you to seek absolution from my mythical figure tonight, Monsieur Errien. You see, I worship Her now…so it’s to Amaya that you should pray. May She have mercy on your soul.”
She is my Bible. My scripture. My religion. She is everything, and I am nothing without her. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
She is my salvation. My hope. My temptation. My blood. My everything.
I feast on her. I could suffocate myself in her and it would never be enough.
This is us at its core. Wild. Untamed. Invincible and brutal in every single way.
