He pulled her in whispering words that seemed like incantations
Sure enough, they worked the same way, for she fell under his spell
She brushed the taste of sin on his lips, but kissed him anyway
At this point, she knew there was no escaping
So she held on with all her might
She looked deep in herself before losing it in his eyes, muttering words of apology
She knows she's lost, and began to slowly accept it
There was no one else to blame
She fully embraced the dried up traces forming on her cheeks
Just as she embraced the scars and the bruises that adorned the rest of her body
Her voice was too broken to call for help
She clenched her eyes tight as she desperately recited a prayer
But at this point, she was at the lowest of the low to even think of the divine
The man who was to high struck on pleasure and power took full advantage
Indeed he was a skilled artist, painting a face that would fool the untrained eye
Well, he did learn from a few artists himself
It just took him a while to pick up on their tricks
Was he merely granting the woman to free access to an unwanted class?
Or, was it an implication of hurt and its continuous cycle?