The clever fox cornered me.

He was wearing a cloak drenched with the scent of the ocean. His tail, wet with the subtle touch of his yearning for my surrender. He told me to let go. To crumble the proud castle walls and have him peeked in my unbecoming. I wasn’t shivering nor was I frightened. Fear has eluded me. I was welcoming his lure. Catching it between my teeth, and tasting the bitter lull in my tongue. He claimed that it was better this way. He could see me anticipating it. The embers of my restraints, now gone. A new fire—is replaced. A slow yet inextinguishable fire. I was coaxing death, in my hands. He placed the pen in my hand, asking me to write myself bared for his personal disposal. Cleverly taunting me, as I try and look about for an excuse to say 'No'. I could hear his breathing, maneuver its way to my subconscious, like the languid call of a sensual tango.


I took the pen, and all at once, as if my pen-hand has a...