The Burn

At last she's in my hands! Her hair! Her gorgeous hair! I've wanted this for so long. The first thing I did when I received it was stroke myself with it. That gorgeous blood red hair.

I may not have her yet--the one, that woman, the siren--but I possess her hair, and for now, I'll do to it exactly what it does to me; what she does to me...

I'll burn it.

And then I'll use the fiery inspiration to finish my painting.


The doctor said I should only visualize what I want, and that painting is quite possibly my strongest practice of visualization. I will not stop until I've gathered enough samples to make this painting absolutely perfect, in ever way, from the shade of her lips to the curve of her hips and the slenderness of those feminine fingers.

Prologue

I've never done this before... never have I been so... trapped by a woman. Never have I been so completely lost in the gravitational pull of her mystery. I've left it all behind for her, and I don't even know her...

Who is she?

They call her "The Siren".

I've quit racing, I've taken my old Nikon camera back and now my life is all her, all about her angles, all about her poses and her eyes and that wicked quirk of her lips. I can't stop staring, and my camera loves her, it clicks open and shut with lightning speed. She's electrifying, and she doesn't even speak.

It's been a while since I've felt inspired, something in me is being pulled towards the pen, to write verses? It can't be. The last time I wrote for someone was... well, never mind.

She's pouting now, and looking at herself in the mirror, her fingers tangled in her hair as she brushes it to and fro, fixing the waves that flow like molten lava to her waist and wrap around her perfectly shaped hips. God she's breathtaking.

I must go. The second session starts now.