The magic she weaved over him, around him, in him – he did not understand, but he was caught in her spell. She was bewitching…a witch maybe? He did not care. 

Her eyes were too deep. He had to look away, even as he wanted to drown in them. Her voice was captivating, but he wanted to stop her talking by pressing his lips to hers. Her hair so dark that the words came to him – “dark magic”…she was dark magic. 

He was in love. He called her “Mon Amour,” his Voodoo Mon Amour. 

She laughed when he questioned the depth of her love for him. As deep as her magic was, he felt her attachment to him was shallow, only fleeting. 

One night, she held a feather and traced it around and over his body. He felt light and even as the fear arose in him, he could only marvel at her power. 

He was helpless to her charms. 

He saw his body dissolving and as the scream rose in his throat, that too dissolved.

Gone.

She fell to the floor, exhausted and satiated. 

Another one sent into the unknown. 

Another will come along and fall into the well of her magic. 

And they too will dissolve.