A Mandrake's Gesture: Vol I.

There upon the blasphemous grassy knoll, a maiden, her lovers' temptations of the past. Amidst a silky silhouette, a dainty stroll flaunting a crimson masquerade. "Your invitations of subtle romance, be they adventurous, unfulfilled, shall we not exchange vespers?" The angel Azriel passioned. . . A soft Belial did exchange. . . . "Perchance your suggestion faint, a slight hint at curiosity?" "Pray you Belial, mystery for the whimsy, my gentle romance." The maiden's eyes began to twinkle slightly, a hint of passion. The fullness of her bosom so exquisite and so tame, she patted herself on the thigh, exquisitely, softly. She would listen to the rhythms of her heart and praise the moon. . . . "Azriel your infinite sensuality is perplexing, an embrace to the musers of sophistication." "Belial. . . are you true?" "Always, of the most royalties in shadow." Belial's vehemence was like a steady rhapsody- a melody to the songs and essences of the crying angels, his interests in this courtship affair piqued, unbeknownst, foreboding. A howling wolf nurtured his wanton's decree. "May there be no misgivings between us. Our romance a flounder, this time upon a dreary meadow, passions of the blooming Spring." "The maturity of the season burgeoning as a goddess basking in the twilight." "Belial, amidst your presence, your magical enthralls, I am a virgin of chaotic confines, an orchestrating phatasmagoria, bellowing echoes of innocence." "Where'st upon your throne of pride, do you betake such ambience and cunning?" "Another courtship, another attempt at fate, falling away with thee, embracing your sacred art of serpent masochism." Her lips very supple, very appealing, she was a cupid to Belial's delight. . . . The Dragon emulated its horrorific delight, the trees began to sway as howling winds enveloped. A nightbird swooped, like a predatorial owl, scornful wisdom, a galliant interlude. The moonlight shown through, revealing the shadows of a saga of melancholy and the wicked kingdom. The angels gently opposed their own virtue. Cascading glances of despair and burdening lusts erupted within Azriel and Belial. . . befallen. The cries of passion were softly felt, hence, a lovers' quartet of silent lucidity. A beseeching cry of lechery, portented gayly, Azriel gave way to Belial's surmise. "She will suffer. . ."