GIRL

She's not a girl, she's a freaky mixed bag of animal genetics.

She's the annoyance that won't lie down and quit when told.

She's the enemy that stole his son.

She's the threat to five thousand years of planning.

She's the thought that won't stop buzzing in his mind like a fly trapped in a room, bumping against the inside of his head when all he wants is to sleep.

She's the most demanding opponent he has ever fought, which makes their clashes exciting, always stretching his skills. But she doesn't know when she's beaten.

She's stubborn; she won't accept that he will win. He always wins – and the end of the world is no exception.

She's weak; her compassion for others, the sham of humanity that she practices and clings to so desperately, will ultimately kill her. Not that he's supposed to notice or even care.

She's a poison and an army, invading his life and beliefs until he's not sure where he stands any more.

She is beautiful.

He looks down at her moving beneath him, her soft lips parted on a breathy moan, golden skin shining with the sweat of their union.

She's not a girl, he muses. She is most definitely a woman.