Author's Note: I've changed Pandora's POV to third person for this memoir. Possibly for the rest of them.
Pandora wandered the battlefield, where Roman soldiers had fought and won. The enemy was virtually unimportant in identity, the only important thing was that they stood in the way of the total domination of the Roman Empire. Pandora treasured her moonlit walks among the fallen dead, and told them her darkest secrets. Her dear brethren, what they lacked in mobility they made up for in patience. Pandora was naked, as she was most nights. She felt a sense of elation and freedom to move among the massacred as if in a state of rebirth. To be natural and new among the recently departed. Was death itself not a rebirth?
She took care not to step in the blood of the soldiers, Roman and foe alike.
Her long dark hair was loosing falling down from where she had pinned it early in the night. The moon illuminated her pale dead skin, making it a formidable contrast to the dark of the battlefield. Light cascaded graciously over every womanly curve and fall of her body, and she felt beautiful and godlike. She closed her eyes and breathed in the death of the place, she let the decay wash over her.
"P-Proserpine?" The half-whisper came from ahead of her. A not quite dead soldier was confusing her for the goddess of the underworld. She was flattered.
The opened her flaming hazel eyes, and took in the trembling man. No, not a man. A boy, only 18. He has a family at home. His father is a butcher, and his mother is beautiful. His older brother died fighting by his side just today. He lies not far from here. The boy is indeed a Roman, and his wounds are not mortal. They are semi-crippling, however. If he were to get out of here alive he would be lame for the rest of his life. Pandora speaks to him in Latin, not yet moving towards him.
"Yes, Child," she cooes to him. "I have come to gather you and the other souls among you. You are already dead."
The boy says nothing, and his trembling increases. Pandora now moves towards him, and gets to her knees before him.
"Not to fear," she says as she runs a pale hand through his dark blood-matted hair. "It won't hurt at all, and the Underworld isn't half as bad as you think."
She gathers the boy's head in her arms and places it in her lap. She tips his face towards her, and looks at him for a while. His eyes are clenched shut and tears stream out of them.
"Hush now, I'm not so terrifying," Pandora gathers the tears on her fingers and brings them to her tongue. That saltiness. Like blood, but not. Now she lays down on the earth beside the boy and gathers him to her bosom. She wraps her arms around him.
"It could be enjoyable, if you want it." She begins to push thoughts into his brain. She calms him. She makes him hunger for her. After a while, he stops shaking. His arms find their way around her naked waist.
"There, that's better." Pandora is positively delighted. She wishes to take this boy back to her home and keep him as a pet. She already has several.
The boy begins to hastily remove his soldiers' uniform, and throw it all around him. He barely winces when his broken legs are touched, such is the ferocity of his desire. When he is fully naked, he presses his warm body against her cold one and begins to kiss her savagely. His ready manhood is pressed agains her eagerly.
Pandora relishes the brush of his fingers against her body. The pleasure of his warm touch is enough to make her want to take him completely. The bloodlust rises in her, and she wants nothing more than to drain him. She wants to bring him completely into herself. His calloused hands snake everywhere. One rests on her breast, as his mouth dances around the nipple. The other is sliding down between her legs. She knows that the latter of these actions will only disappoint both of them. She stops him by pushing him to the ground and pinning his hands behind his head. She straddles him, sitting on his stomach, and begins to kiss his neck and chest. She runs her tongue all over him, constantly being drawn by the beating of his heart. The monotonous rythym drives her wild with lust, until she is clawing at his chest. His muffled sounds of pleasure turn into screams of pain as she rips through his flesh. She has turned into a carnal monster. She pulls flesh away from him until she sees his ribcage, catching the moonglow in a dazzling display of white on red. She tugs at the ribs fiercely, until she feels the satisfying CRACK. The boy has begun to spasm in shock, and Pandora knows the death-throws are not far away. That will not do, she needs to taste the heart as it is still beating.
She digs through the cavern of his chest until her hand brushes the beating gem. Ever-so-gently she brings her mouth down into the boys chest, kissing the organ she so desired. She sinks her fangs in until blood is spurting into her mouth. She continues to drain him until his body is convulsing under her, and his heart begins to slow. She leaves him there, in the dirt, after snapping his neck quickly. She leaves his blood all over herself, and imagines herself as Prosperine. She had envisioned bringing him back to the house, like another of her many lost souls. Things don't always work out.