My Daemon

Was it just sex that effected me like this? No, of course not. I was no stranger to the act.

It was her.

From the time I had loosed her virgin stitches she infected my veins like a slow acting poison. Kanda for the mind. Drugged conscience ... and I don't mean conscious.

I had built such dreams around her. They were not exactly normal. I don't think I've had a normal dream in my entire existence. But they were as close to normal as I had ever come. She was to be mine someday. To stand beside me, bear children.
Who was she? She was my sister.

No, not my blood sister. To my knowledge there are none that share my blood. She was the daughter of Dubois. Dark haired Tuchuk Wench with intoxicating blue eyes .... so much like the Sky I prayed to them.

The summer we spent together was hot and wet and like none other I can remember. Was it the naivety of youth? Was it the inevitable treacherous soul of women? When they caught her with one of the commanders she was begging to be his slave. A slut with her thighs splayed for every scarred warrior of the Tribe. Is it that in every woman's heart there is a whore?

She is still a slave of the Tribe. I can not but feel the drug every time I see her. Though I no longer partake of her community pussy. Sloppy stench. She makes me ill.

Yet still sometimes I wake from the dream of fucking her drenched in the same heat of that summer and my stomach wretches with the strength of her intoxication and the sick memory of her.