Smoke seeps from her mouth as she finishes the last drag of her cigar. She doesn't bother putting out the bud, flame only thrives here. As she takes each step toward her throne, her tiny feet pounds against the ground causing the whole realm to tremble. There has never been a day of true joy in her life, this life is the only one she has known since being casted down here. Knowledge of love was the first thing to be forgotten when she arrived. Under her rule Hell lives up to its reputation. There is no memory of light, other than the fires that burn a melancholy blue. Before her rule, Hell was nothing more than a blank space full of hard hearted souls. Upon her arrival, terrible screams erupted and the sky weeped at the prisoner it had gained. Her presence sent a ripple of pure and utter despair throughout the realm, she was the embodiment of hate. She was an anti-god and spoke shackles unto tortured souls. No soul had experienced true suffering until the day her name was first spoken. She ordered all the rejected souls to build her castle. No breaks. They were already dead, they were worked to beyond death. There is no record of any soul  foolish enough to challenge her. Her body was the ultimate desire, though no soul dared to court her. She has not made any attempt at finding a king to rule beside her, for no one is worthy according to her preferences. So, everyday she holds court and forces her oppressed subjects to remain near her. Not even the hardest hearted person can remain close to her for very long before terror rips through them. She is isolation, hate, and the most sickening type of pain. Her name is Lucifer, empress of Hell.

I imagine a shiver would run down my spine as 

those three words left your mouth.

Next, you would press your lips on mine and prove 

your profession.

In return, I would recite to you those words with the reverence of a prayer.

And how we'd worship one another that night.

Beauty is a curse.

It attracts unwanted attention.

A high pitched whistle rings in my ear, I continue to walk.

Heavy footsteps trail behind me.

A wave of nausea comes over me as

I turn around to confront him, but I feel

A rough hand slither around my waist, constricting me.

Uninvited hands trace my lips.

I never met his eyes.

Hot toxic breath forces its way down my neck.

His hands might as well have nailed me to a cross as he pinned down my naked body.

Gasps of pain escape in place of pleasure.

Tears slide down my cheeks as I give up.

In that act,

I had no say, 

I forced myself to endure it. 

I will never wear that dress again.

I will never go down that street again.

Nothing will ever compare to the amount of fear I experienced 

down that street, 

in that dress, 

with no escape.