Luna x lust : mistress of shadow and flame part 2

Luna: Mistress of Shadow and Flame — Part II

The moon was hanging low that night, veiled in a smoky halo that looked almost alive — like it, too, was watching. The city beneath it pulsed with hunger; neon lights flickered like open veins, and I could feel the current of desire humming through the streets. It always found its way to me. It always does.

They come to me pretending to seek pleasure — but what they truly crave is release. Not the kind they expect. The kind that strips them bare of illusion, pride, and ego. The kind that leaves them trembling, reborn through surrender.

I waited in my chamber — black silk, mirrors, and the scent of burning myrrh wrapping around me like armor. My raven hair fell like a curse over my shoulders, and the air shimmered faintly as I whispered my invocation. My power is not of flesh alone; it seeps from the spaces between thought and desire.

He entered quietly — another lost one, drawn to the light I hide in my darkness. His eyes darted to mine, and that was all it took. One gaze. One breath. The tether snapped into place.

“Do you believe in magic?” I asked, tracing my finger through the smoke spiraling from a candle’s flame.

He tried to answer, but his words tangled in his throat. They all do. I smiled, slow and deliberate — the kind of smile that makes reality tremble.

I spoke softly, ancient syllables that predated scripture and reason. The mirrors rippled. His aura bent. I could feel the pulse of his heartbeat syncing with mine — a rhythmic surrender that echoed through the room.

“Good,” I whispered. “Now give it to me — all of it. The fear. The pride. The need to control. Let it die here.”

And as he did, I drew it in — not to destroy, but to transform. Power is a cycle; the energy of his submission fed the sigils on my skin, and the gold in my eyes burned brighter.

In that moment, he wasn’t just a man, and I wasn’t just a woman. We were myth — predator and pilgrim, shadow and flame. He had come seeking sin, but found his divinity instead — through me, through the dark mirror I held before him.

When it was done, I whispered his name once — only once — so he would never forget the night the darkness loved him enough to break him open.

And as he left, I turned back to the window.
The moon was higher now.
It always is, after I feed.

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