" Hold on, you should... you should keep quite.", the voice of the sweet girl echoed against the greasy cobblestones. There was a drape of black velvet thrown across the street and a deep stench of moisture overran the chilly air down to the lungs of Melisande. She shaked hard with fear but held him tight in her arms..." Dante?... Dante!!"

He quivered coldly and open a cyanide blue eye staring darts at her. In his raving mind, she looked almost glowing, glistening like the ultimate object of temptation. He could taste her subtle skin, soft and warm, in the embrace of his sole breath. He almost felt her pulse on his lips though layed in her arms, way from her delicate throat, head against her breast, her metronometric heart, sweet heart.

" DANTE!"

The voice struck into the nebula of his ravings. He startled and then got himself together, summoning his strength up as he felt on the verge of betraying a promise he had made to himself. DO NOT TOUCH. Be tough only to himself. Ah, harder now than it seemed. But he surely was the worst of the two evils that composed what his children called "Dante". Strangely enough, Melisande had her own way dealing with this name. Dante. Caught in between her lips it tasted of french cuisine. Dante remembered the taste of food as if he had left it yesterday. He remembered the sun stroking his skin without the young man he used to be noticing. There was the voice of Melisande shattering in the pond of thoughts he continuously stirred, making soft riddles at the surface of his mind, trying to wake the devil back up. Had she only known how much she was going the wrong way with him at the moment...

" Will you stop it little girl... "
" You are in no fit state to tell me what I should... heard that?"
" What...? Mind you, as you said I am in no state right away..."
" That was nothing... don't move. You bled a lot Dante..."
" What's the use in being a walking dead if I can't loose a little blood uh?"
" You shouldn't laught either..."
" You'd rather have a spell of cries?"

She frowned, hesitating.

" You ... Dante I'm serious."
" Me too. Don't stay that close, I might... well..."
" You can't walk. Let me..."
" You have no idea, idiot little girl! If I were you I'd have been miles from here from the minutes when we met those stupid hellhounds. You..."
" Shut up!"

She blushed scarlett. He smiled. She was beautiful. Dangerously beautiful and innocent. To him, she was a fawn at the mercy of his own animal instinct. Ludicrously frail but delectable. His lips stroked softly on her skin. She recoiled. He smiled. She frowned as he stroke her cheek with his tumb.

" You've learn a few things since we last met."
" I may have... I'll drag you to some place safe, de gré ou de force.

(...)

As she dragged me way from the hips of rubbles I had dragged her out from, I mused she was somewhat both my pray and my savior. How long since I hadn't walk my way towards redemption? Not that there was such kind of things as redemption. I never and will never think so. Redemption would have left no place for a demon of my kind anyway. It was hell out there and I was standing on top of a hill of dead bodies, king of the crossroad. Me. Dante. It's been way too late for redemption and as I held my eyes wide open - couldn't see a thing still - I knew I was doing no good to her though I pretended so real that I could have myself believe this sweet maiden was my redemption. A ticket to hell, that's all I can win out of the centuries that had been given to me. But then I had been much promoted. I was the ticket seller that will drag you, anyone, even her, you and me, back down to the Pit.

A lecherous smile appeared on my lips. The pale disk of my eye had stopped on her soft white throat. Now! How could I know it was that soft? I knew it. Abaddon couldn't have work such a fine workart and ommitted the finishing touches. He was no better than me. Angel face. Fair skin. Pretty Eyes. Worked the devil on this - so delicate, so fair - 'cause the devil he is. In a fit of laughter I drew her attention back on me, the wretched thing she held in her arms as the piéta held her ill-fated child. Imagine me, her Christ. Like Father, like son, like the holy-devil I was.

Eat me..., I said in a soft whisper.
What?, she wasn't sure she had really heard me say eat me. It sounded too eerie to feel plausible. Dante... your eyes. They turn like... you should...
No you should go now. I'll get by. It's okay.
But it is not Dante...

She gazed at me, sweet madona. The idea had already crawled from my mind into hers like the most pervert germ that pulsed its way through my veins. Insidiously, she had the answer. It stroked her tongue like a devilish kiss but she dared not mention it still. Something deep inside her was reluctant to do it. Abaddon wouldn't approve we both knew. I, knew that achieving this with Mélisande was getting one step closer to what the little alchemist couldn't even dream for himself, at least for the time being, and it felt so deliciously wicked, so tastefully twisted that I could almost feel the arousal of the bite by anticipation. I would not only give the little girl a treat, but above all thing would throw it all to Abaddon's face, without him knowing until I decided it is the optimum time to let the thing out. I still had to work out a plan to spare Mélisande in the all thing. She was to be left as innocent as I found her. Won but pure still. Untouched or so... And as I struggled my way on the straight and narrow path I had chosen to be a saint for her, I followed the sweeping gesture in which Mélisande drew her long golden her away from hair throat, delighted in watching the caress of gold against satin. It was as if she was already undressing before me, and actually she was on her way as she withdrew the round neckline of her dress from her shoulder. Snow white shoulder...

Drink from me..., she offered in a soft embarrassed voice.

I smiled, and took my due.