Isolde’s fingers slid over the rich sea silk gown as the rich textures caressed her body. The belt snugged her waist and she smoothed the folds of the dress over the curve of her hips. Although the breeze kissed her bare shoulder, Isolde wasn’t cold. The weight of the arm cuff band wrapped around her forearm was a delicious heaviness, giving the swing of her arms a confidence that was new, even for her. She was aware of the admiring glances the other men gave her, some even bowing as if they had the right to salute her with such intimate frankness.<br/><br/>Her companion was dressed in a white tunic, resplendent with gold and bronze. Isolde noted the laurel upon his brow and knew him for a wealthy nobleman. She also knew that she belonged with this man. A hint of an earlier part of the dream nagged at her and she heard the echo, “I want you.” In her head, in the sound of her own husky voice. They had left the island paradise for a celebration march through the cities of Rome. Her home, she remembered, but from long, long ago. This was a dream, she thought, and I will wake up to find this gone. But for now, I will revel in the goodness of the slumber land.<br/><br/>Her strong and well favored companion brushed his lips to the circlet of flowers in her hair. She leaned against him, feeling his solid strength at her back and his fingers gently squeezing the top of her toned arms as they stared at tightly locked iron gates to a city.<br/>“Open to me,” Isolde said, pointing a graceful hand toward the gates. Without so much as a creak, the gates opened widely before them, revealing a majestic view of what once used to be Ancient Rome.<br/><br/>Isolde recognized the circular palaces with a portico of large granite Corinthian columns under triangular pediments surrounded the city. Marcellus Orillus lived in the dwelling with an ivory, marble roof. He had a garden of exotic orchids maintained for his wife. Antonius Pontius had lobbied for public gardens to decorate each corner of the streets, covered in trees and flowers and abundant cold springs. Isolde was surprised to find the plantings still flourished. She remembered walking certain winding paths that ended with grandiose statues of Gods and Goddesses and representations of previous Caesars standing in bronze chariots as the charioteers themselves of six to eight winged horses. It was at the base of the goddess Venus that she had first met her lover. Isolde turned to examine the golden haired man with her. Had it been him?<br/><br/>Isolde and her companion paced the stone street as if they were royalty, the random individuals parting the way before they, like the sea before a ship. This one particular man was holding his shield in one hand and carrying his spatha in the other. As he momentarily turned around, his long red cloak swept the ground as he bowed his head in Isolde's direction before returning his attention to his comrades. Isolde turned to stare at him as her companion tightened his grip on her arm, urging her along.<br/><br/>“I think I know him,” she murmured but was interrupted by a group of children laughed, running through their elders as they headed towards the marketplace.<br/><br/>“Welcome back home, Isolde” her companion said as he led her to a newly appointed house. The ebony doors were carved with grimacing satyrs and the god Bacchus cavorting with maenads before a giant fig tree. He opened the door to a courtyard where all sound died before the gentle bubbling of a fountain. Servants clad in scanty white clothes stepped from vine draped alcoves to offer her gifts on cloche topped platter.<br/><br/>Isolde clung to her companion’s arm and nodded thanks to the servants, taking the bronze cover from the platter. Some of the gifts where white doves that whirred into the domed room, others were jewels that sparkled in the sunlight which poured in from the windows on high. Turning to her companion, Isolde’s eyes were sparkling with delight as she realized that he was giving her these gifts from his heart. He had said so little and done even less to tell her who he was, but she was filled with such tenderness at his outpouring of , dare she think it to be love?<br/><br/>The clopping of hooves caught her attention and she turned to him but his face showed confusion. A tiny girl with black ringlets led a glistening white unicorn by a blue satin ribbon. Its horn glowed like an opal. The little girl lisped,<br/><br/>“The unicorn represents love, purity, and the seeking of natural truth. It symbolizes balance of the yin and yang, and recognizes the power and mystique that animals can bring into our lives; which can ultimately help us learn the core of who we really are. And I think you should name him, Hamish.”<br/><br/>Isolde looked puzzled at the red face of her companion and was even more confused at his command to “Take that thing away.”<br/><br/>He led her further through his home, Why did she have the sense that it was her home also? Why did she feel as if she belonged to him? Obviously she wasn’t his slave, but she didn’t even know his name.<br/><br/>“I am Isolde,” she said, quietly to the open air. “ I know I want you. I feel the tug of your heart to mine as if a tightly drawn bow string connected us. Who are you? What am I to you?”<br/><br/>She turned  away and he pulled her back to face him, his fingers biting into her arms. A pool of light shone around them as she was suddenly frightened but highly aroused. Their breaths mingled and their eyes bore into each other’s souls. He drew her nearer still, his rock hard arms around her back, crushing her against him. His lips hovered just above hers, as if weighing the risks of a kiss..<br/><br/>Then the pleasant atmosphere of the dream changed and she knew her companion saw what she saw<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">His eyes that were once a beautiful icy blue, turned into hues of red and black. One could see fire flickering in them, a mirror to Hell. His hands roamed freely down her shoulders and arms. The Demon drew her to him gently to the point where one could feel heat emitting from his body. His left arm circled around her waist and held her prisoner against his chest and his other hand sought her neck, caressing the soft skin with his thumb.<br/><br/><br/>Still holding her in his arms, Erlind made a few slow steps forward, until Isolde's back rested against the wall. She was now trapped, had nowhere to go but if she wanted, she could. He could make the experience agreeable for her, make her body cry in delirious pleasure as he conducted his task. But he wasn't. He needed her to feel the pain, the agony and the torment... To remember that making deals with the Devil was no orgasmic experience. She needed to remember the cause she sold her soul for.<br/><br/>He contemplated her face for what felt like forever and then his lips parted. He drew a ragged breath as they were only an inch away from hers. Erlind shuddered but resisted the bewitching pull. "It will not be pleasant" He whispered, struggling to hold back his sudden painful desire; his breath kissing what his lips could not feel.<br/><br/>His breathing finally slowed.<br/><br/>The tips of his fingers brushed against her cheek and his thumb parted her lips a little bit in a very delicate, provocative manner.<br/><br/>He closed his eyes and the ground began to shake violently beneath their feet as he began sucking the soul out of her mouth, extracting her existence into himself. Tormented screams of the damned souls echoed in the room. The temperature in the room rose to 200 degrees. The pain one would feel was the greatest of pains, worse than anything else one could imagine. It was the pain of Death. Her soul was now trapped inside him and he could feel her heart beating slower...slower...slower. Not only he sucked in her soul, but hope and any happy memory she could have had in her life. <br/>Isolde's soul mingled with his as part of the ritual. It was necessary that he returns her now tainted soul and along with the hope and the happy memories back into her body before the heart suffers a stroke. The soul returned into her vessel and through her open mouth. Their lips never touching during the process.<br/><br/>The screaming voices of the condemned souls muffled by the press of his lips softly against hers. The temperature of the room returned to normal. The shaking of the ground cased and a single tear rolled down the Demon's cheek. solde gasped as his eyes turned to the true demon soulless creature that she had brought forth. At the moment, she realized with despair what she had done to herself. It was as if a door was swinging shut on her in a windowless room. His hands roamed over her arms and shoulders lighting a fire of desire that warred with the hopelessness she felt. She searched his face for a shred of kindness but found none.<br/><br/>His hands caressed her throat as he backed her against the wall. The heat of his body was both welcomed and dreaded. Isolde swallowed, knowing full well he could tear her throat out or merely break her neck with a flick of his wrist. She was at his mercy but did not fight him.<br/>As his mouth came down to hers, she never bargained for more than a kiss to seal the deal. Instead of a kiss, his lips stopped short of touching hers, teasing in the closeness. He was not teasing but in deadly earnest as he began to draw her soul from her body. The very earth she touched shook as with a rock rending quake. The tormented screams that filled the room could have been lost souls crying out for mercy or it could have been Isolde’s own voice but she could not tell. The temperature soared in the room until sweat could no longer roll from her brow but evaporated as soon as it appeared.<br/><br/>Hopeless, bereft, empty, Isolde could see Malachai. She mustn’t use his lovely name again in this life. She had to turn away, she didn’t want him to see her like this. Shame filled her. Thoughts and accusations ran through her mind like circling ravens, ready to pluck her eyes from her head. She was losing her mind as the screaming went on and on.<br/><br/>With a rush, her soul flooded back into her body, hope, memories and self returned. Isolde felt sorrow as she realized that Erlind/Asmodai was the one filled with hopelessness and torment. He was the one who was empty and bereft. She felt relief that she had lost nothing discernable of herself.<br/>And then his lips covered hers, softly, tenderly and full of a future promise. The tear that rolled down his cheek, dripped on her face and she gently ran her slender fingers through his blond hair and over his smooth cheek to smooth away his pain. The experience that he had meant to humiliate and pain her had given her compassion for the demon and desire for the man. he kiss was short, short enough to last for about two seconds or three. Also short enough for Erlind not to lose himself into it and surrender. He broke that one simple kiss slowly. He silently sighed as her fingers went through his golden locks and over his smooth cheek. Her touch was like anything he had experienced. A feeling that God deprived him from. It was a touch he loathed for it felt as if God has touched him but it was at the same time different, coming from Isolde. <br/>_________________</span><br/><br/>His fingers bit deeper into her arms and shook her until her head snapped back. Isolde put her hand against his chest to steady herself, not fighting him but as a reminder that she wanted him. Wanted him still. He drew her close and his cerulean eyes were an endless ocean and sky of desire.