Her first time - if she were to privilege a soul with actual honesty - was... rather disappointing.

In theory, it had sounded so alluring and powerful. Not only a cathartic expression of body and mind, but an accomplishment... a coming of age, of sorts. She had expected it to be life-changing, or at the very least entertaining.

At first, it was neither. In fact, she had once felt that perhaps it had been wrong... but she had disregarded that notion not long thereafter. For one, lesser people seemed to have the right - why shouldn't she? But even with that mindset, she felt off and - dare she say it? - troubled.

And then, one day, a long-buried feeling began tingling from the inside. It was nothing more than a spark at first, a sensation that tickled and teased at whim. Of course, when things like this came to her, there was no such thing as weakness or chance, no fluke of her being that was not specifically geared toward an end. So, like she would any unknown intruder into her realm, she waited. She watched.

Every time she felt it gently caress the back of her mind, she searched for a chance to wrap her hand around it and bend it to her beckoning. Somewhere along the way, the sensation grew into her just as she grew into it, molding it like warm dough in her hands and feeding on it; fanning it as an ember and billowing on its luscious flames.

And one day, there he was, being sized with new eyes.

The intensity grew. Pulses quickened. His skin radiated with heat as the distance lessened. At delicious last, she felt this dark intimacy fill her - complete her. Then the tongues of fire stopped licking; the atmosphere began to clear; and she was left with an indescribable feeling of satiation as she gazed at his now closed eyes and smiled at the beauty that their fireworks had lit.

For all the pleasure, however, she couldn't bear the thought of the novelty wearing off, so she was careful in her choosing. Relished the anticipation of what could be but appreciated that perhaps it was best that this instinct, now a full-blown drive, could swell up to its absolute brim before she sought release. It apparently gave her a veneer of decency. Not that decency particularly concerned her.

No, all that mattered was these moments she had come to savor. Live for. There was, in her not-so-humble opinion, nothing like this most sacred act, this highest degree of communion in which she had the distinct pleasure of partaking. There never was anything quite akin to this rage-like emotion when she held a life in her warm, soft hand.

And destroyed it.