Kiss of Life

I awoke mid-melody, only, there was no sonorous troubadour, but rather, the Ardat Lili who had raptured my cock last month with the caustic clutch of her gargoylian cunt.

There she stood, over me, under my terror-stricken scrutiny.

I was ready to die–ready to become yet another lamb to the slaughter of her barbaric butchery. Yet, there she stood, unmoving, uninterested in delivering the kiss of death.

Perhaps a feeling of compassion had mysteriously wafted inside her unloving lungs, and settled, albeit temporarily, inside her prefrontal cortex? I don't know, but I wasn't going to try and figure it out then and there.

With a shaking and discombobulated bravery, I lifted myself up to my feet and slowly backed away from her presence, backed away from the almost-memory of my coup de grâce. Mercy was in my corner that day.