How close the darkness at your breast,
How hectic are the rivers, love,
Drawn through your dying wrist.
And love, what heat your frail skin hides,
As pure as salt, as sweet as death,
And in the dark the red moon rides
The foxfire of your breath.
Get out of my head!
Are you wondering why I stick around, love? Would you care to know why I bother to stay with you?
My orders are to keep watch over you, to stay with you and your little group.
It would hurt you to know why. But I still have resisted the urge to tell you and gratify my hunger. You see, even though I love to feel your pain, the pain of someone who gives it willingly is that much sweeter.
You disgust me.
You don't care for me that much, do you? But I sense you will, soon.
Never!
What? You say you will never care for a mazoku like me? Oh, I wouldn't be so quick to deny the very race of blood through your veins.
What do you mean?
Oh, you didn't know, did you? That hidden, delectable part of you. I think you do know, you just don't want to admit it. Your blood quickens when you feel someone's pain. It's not strong, yet. That part of you is hiding deep within a body that confines it, refines it.
Liar!
I'm no liar. You know it. You will wake up soon, and this conversation will be on the brink of your memory, the tip of your tongue. I'll smile at you, and you'll feel something squirm deep inside you. I can sense that it grows stronger, feeding on the very magic and soul which is so desperate to shed its own skin. But, you can't hide from it, Zelgadis. First, it will consume you, and then I will.