He could not and would not fight the attraction for her that pulled at his soul. She was a force of nature, who was able to be gentle and merciful or sinister and cruel at a whim.
He was always entertained by her. Not knowing which extreme to expect at any particular point in any given day was a thrill. He was, of course, able to enjoy himself thoroughly in either case. The ever changing variety of delights they experienced together brought him to heights to which no other could compare. His devotion was unquestionable, as there was no other who could hold him as so willing a thrall. Each and every day he delighted in her presence, his life made more challenging, more interesting.
The sweet and cloying scent of her perfume, the soft rustle of satin, the beauty of a single rose, her thin and boney wrist as he took her by the hand and snuck off into the shadows with her. Silent as the night, they wandered the quiet corners of London as lovers are wont to do, content in their own little world.
The results when they worked together, as they often did, were unrivaled in beauty and variety. He would never be able to relinquish his fascination; his passion for her. She was a coldhearted mistress and yet, he felt a tremendous desire for her.
No one was, or could ever be, as fascinating to him in the complex dance they did around each other. Hand in hand, flirting and fighting, even cheating, but never able to break completely away from each other. Their bond was just too strong. She was for now and forever, his soul mate. Although, he was not ready to commit himself to her and fully embrace her just yet, he would forever be spellbound by his one true love… death.