All rational thoughts evaporated from their minds with just one look. Only one course remained that drove their lust into action: an insatiable desire to be with her. Like moths to a flame, they basked in her beauty, and all the time the devil rejoiced from within her, collecting one more soul to burn in hell for all eternity.
Prophet David’s prophesied words swirled through my mind, tormenting me, crushing my soul:
“Beware of the Cursed. One look in their soulless eyes and you will be trapped in lust. One touch of their mouths on your flesh and you will thirst for their bodies with an insatiable and sinful carnal need. Their seductive intent will bewitch you, trap you to do their damnable bidding, then drag you down to the brimstone where you shall burn eternally.
“No man can truly love a Cursed woman of Eve. And no woman of Eve will ever have the love of a pure soul.”
As I blinked away tears and tore my gaze from that girl, that Cursed woman of Eve of whom Prophet David preached, the realization struck me. It will always be this way. I would not be saved by the Lord—no matter how hard I tried. I would never reach my goal of salvation. Perhaps the only way to be saved was to face the devil head-on? I would not, could not, be saved until men stopped setting aside their righteousness and had no urge to take me…
There was only one thing left for me to do—take this Satan-given poisonous beauty and make it ugly, disgustingly ugly, repulsively ugly… ugly enough to set me free of my curse.
With determination in my step and seeing an almost transcendent view of myself from above, I opened the door to the bathroom and stepped into the cool room. The bed was rumpled from where I’d been laid, watery blood on the linen from the sores on my back.
Moving to the sofa, I picked up the soiled discarded white tunic and slipped it over my head, not even feeling the scratchy material rubbing at my open flesh.
Swaying unsteadily and my long hair dripping on the floor, I managed to pick up my feet and headed for the door. As I passed the single stack of drawers, Ky’s gun laid on top. Swept in a daze and without thinking, I retrieved the weapon and placed it in the pocket of my garment. As I turned the doorknob to the hallway, loud music drifted toward me from the bar, calling me like a beacon.
I did not know where I was going, what my destination would be, so I looked down at the locked steel door down the hallway.
Following the heavy beat of drums, my feet stepped in unison to the trancelike rhythm, my vision losing focus with tiredness, with the gravity of my plight. With every step, my heartbeat thundered, taunting me, calling my sinful name…
Temptress—beat—whore—beat—harlot—beat—Delilah—beat—Delilah—beat—Delilah, Delilah, Delilah…
Bare toes hitting the tall steel door that led to the lounge room, I turned the knob, and a wave of cigarette smoke and music engulfed me.
Bodies were everywhere. Men in leather cuts were drinking, rowdy and loud. Loose women were hanging around their necks, bodies on show, hands doing sinful acts on the men’s flesh. And they were all laughing.
But what was there to be joyous of?
Walking through the heat of the bodies, I passed by Flame. His wide tattooed back faced me, but I saw a knife in his hand, the sharp blade slicing into his skin, marring his skin, ruining his skin, making it ugly…
Ugly…
Ugly…
Ugly…
Seeing a lineup of blades on the table to his left, my fingers drifted across the mass of cold metal, clutching the last and sharpest.
I kept on walking, blade down, nobody noticing me. I liked being ignored. For ugly was ignored… I no longer wanted to be the temptress.
Catching sight of a roaring fire, I was drawn to the flames. Fire… cleaned by fire… By boiling blood you shall purify the soul.
My feet led me to the fireplace and I noticed my reflection flickering in the mirror on the wall. I stared at the face for the very last time, that face, that perfect face… that sinful face.
Ugly…
Ugly…
Ugly…
Destroy the devil’s creation.
Inhaling a deep breath and gripping the blade tightly in my fist, I slowly lifted my hand, bunching my long blond hair in the other. With a hold on the sharp knife, as calm as the summer breeze, I smiled at my reflection and—