The woman was raging fire, a deluge from on high sent by the gods themselves. She was the blaze that consumed forests, that drove men to madness, that sent soldiers hurtling down the battlements of well-guarded keeps, and that plunged priests into such longing and desire that, prostrated before the cross, they'd curse and denounce the lord.
She was a snake, wrapped sevenfold in in temptation, a lush garden of desires in her veiled sex, her heaving bosoms seemingly ransacked from the very heavens. She was fire, she was the devil, she was the rage of God, the sword that cuts night into day, the ax that cleaves the seasons accordingly.
At least, this was how she felt. As she stood regarding herself in the mirror, in her skimpy, skinny Daisy Dukes, she knew that tonight all kinds of hell would be raised for her. She liked this. She smiles at herself, and the reflection, the one with the little devil on her shoulder said, 'Go get'em, tiger'.
And so she did.
You're the links that you move. You shine from the light that you shed.
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