At about 8:25 a.m. or so, the white girl knocked on the large, soundproof door and opened it.

“Shut it.” The voice came from inside. She didn’t see him. The room was dark. Why wouldn’t it be? The curtains were black, and so was the rug, the sheets, and the three-step staircase that led to the big, big bed.

The only weak light that extinguished a slight amount of darkness was the red light at surrounding corners of the room. Red. One didn’t know whether it actually extinguished the darkness or just simply moulded it into another form of colour. Another colour of darkness.

“Take off your clothes. “ The voice said, hoarse and dangerous. She didn’t look scared at first, but as she walked further, the fear that engulfed her looked...compensated, perhaps, by the fact that she already knew what she came here for. Yes, she had been pre-informed. She took them off, and the man, who was behind her and who had watched her walk all the way to the bed as he looked at her body, now her ordinary, bare body, lay down on the bed.

“Hmmm.” He grumbled. As she lay down, looking at his shadow, she could as well hear the fumbling as he unbuckled his belt.

“Need help?” She asked, making an attempt to be seductive.

“Stupid question.” And a scoff was his reply. She swallowed.

He walked to her now and placed each hand on the bed, such that she was between them, and he bent down further onto her, sniffing her body, from her navel, towards the middle of her plump breasts and then her neck. Her neck. “Hmm,” he grumbled, as he kissed it.

He kissed it again.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

And then, suddenly, he was hungry. She began to moan softly. And then, with one hand, he quickly turned her over on the bed, and she made a muffled sound. He spread her legs apart and used his finger to locate her introitus. She was a little wet. Good for her. She arched her body backwards, and he took his right hand and directed his organ into her opening.

“Please.” She gasped, feeling how large he was between her.

He began to thrust now, and her cries and moans grew even louder. It was pain at first, but following it came a distinct sense of sweetness and pleasure.

“Oh, god,” She groaned. Her voice was shaky, like she was about to cry, but she loved it. He didn’t. Her pleasure offended him. This was meant for him and him alone.

“How dare you share in my ecstasy? , my gratification?” The voice was in her mind, bold and scary, but in her mind. He thrust even deeper now, and the cries he heard this time, stripped of sweetness, satiated him now. He closed his eyes, savouring her, and thrust deeper, continuously, faster. And she cried harder.

“Yes, yes,” he moaned. He grabbed her black hair, tilting her head up vigorously, as she waved her left hand around. Even in the absence of pleasure, she wanted him more and more. In fact, it was as though she liked it even when she felt less pleasure.

“Go on, cry for me. Beg.” She continued to cry, like a baby, a hurting child, and he went on, almost inserting his full length inside her. It gave him so much pleasure, so much so that he couldn’t feel or hear anything apart from this sweetness in his body, his nerves. “Oh, good god. “ He went harder, so fast; he just kept on going and going; he was fully inside now. His cries were so sweet, so good. She loved it. It was a feeling she could not explain. It was not from her. She felt submissive and loyal. She felt grateful that he was touching her. She felt like a servant to a god, and all she wanted was to make sure he was pleased.

He climaxed with a final thrust inside of her and then fell into bed.

She collapsed on the bed, too. He lay there for minutes, breathing, breathing, and suddenly, the cries that gave him so much pleasure suddenly irritated him.

"Thank you..." The woman uttered with much esteem and genuine gratitude for him.

“Wear your robe, and get out.” He said as he got up.

She looked up, confused. “Get out!!!!” He screamed again with a force so loud that she thought the curtains were blowing. Frightened, she ran off with the robe in her hand. But the truth was this: if she was asked to do this again, she would, for no man, no human, could ever feel the height of ecstasy she felt in those few seconds. It was a privilege, and she was grateful.

After she left, he screamed so hard, putting both hands on his head as if pressing his face together, went to his dressing table, and swiped everything from it to the neat, black tiled floor.

He had done it again. He could not stop himself. He could never stop himself because he had tried for more than a thousand years. But this was the life he was forced to live. This was his curse.

As she scurried quickly down the long, lonely hallway without looking, her eyes blurry with tears anyway, and she had inserted her body into the bathrobe already, she bumped into a suited man.

“Mr Welsh”. She exclaimed as he held her.

“Sylvia... is everything alright?”

“No.... yes.... no. Uhm..." She suddenly seemed to get a hold of herself, wiping the short-lived tear from her right eye.

Mr Welsh's face was suddenly saddened. She was finally coming back to her senses.

“Sylvia? “

“I’m fine. I’m on my way out. “

“Let me see you off, then.”

She looked up at him in disdain and chuckled. “Why would you want to see a cheap hoe like me off?” Mr Welsh and Sylvia both held their contact for seconds before she spoke. "What is in that room? Because it is definitely not human?"

"I don't understand that," Mr Welsh said. Trying his best to sound formal and maintain a straight face.

Sylvia nodded in defeat. “I’ll call a cab. Just have my money darn wired.”

“ Your money will be wired, and you will be notified only once you have fulfilled all terms. Calling a cab. That’s not in the agreement. Jolly will drop you off.” Welsh said, and then put his forefinger to the earphone in his left ear. “Jolly, be ready at the first entry.”

He looked at her again. “I will send for Jules now. She will get you a good outfit before you leave. Have a nice day, Miss.”

He wanted to look at her and say he was truly sorry, but he could not.

Once Sylvia was taken care of, he proceeded to the room which she had come running out of. The door was ajar, and he walked in.

“Sir.”

“What is it, Damien?”

“Is everything okay, Mr Darcel?” He asked as he noticed his master sitting slouched on the bed and the floor tattered with things that were formerly on the now half-bent reading table.

“You know the answer to that,” he said. His voice, hoarse and sad as ever. Dangerous, too. “Just give me what you have for me.”

“The police, they have nothing so far. No identity. They’re still searching for the cameras, however. The bodies and glasses have been swiped for fingerprint testing. There isn’t much threat. They don’t even understand what happened there.”

“How can they?” He grumbled. “Humans... blind, blind, blind. Blind to everything except ambition,” he said, still looking down. His black hair, which should have been parted, as he liked it, covered his face. He suddenly looked up at Damien and laughed.

“Look at me, Damien. I speak as though I was never once human. The devil I have become has eaten away my spirit. I can not be saved.” He held his palms and stared at them.

“I do not believe that, sir. I never will.”

“I can’t even feel it,” Darcel said. “I can not feel humanity. Damien breathed in. He hated this topic.

"A policeman shared knowledge with a journalist about a man in black who came and disappeared just as fast. They said he was the major suspect, but there was no means of identity or way to track him.”

Darcel looked up now, but he wasn’t terrified or even disturbed.

“Look into them, then.”

“Alright. I should be ready to leave now, sir. “

“You should, Damien.” Damien nodded slightly and began to turn when Abbadon called back.

“Wait.” Darcel stood. “About the girl, triple her payment and ensure she leaves Avalon for good.”

He said, and Damien bowed a little before leaving the room.