She was nothing like me. Her sad eyes held untold storms of past regrets, which I never knew. We wouldn't have met at all, but for the smile she sent me as she passed by my small, café table one afternoon. I knew she liked what she saw.
She was no whore, but my charms eased her to my will, and I had her into a cheap inn bed by the early moon of that same night. Her warm body welcomed me with passion... emotion I thought no human could be capable of. I gave into my lust, thinking her dead already.
I would have passed her by, if not for that one smile.
By the light of dawn from the tiny inn window, smothering shadow against knowing, I watched her sleep. My people had been here for more than three thousand years. She wouldn't have been my first; wouldn't have been my last. (I had my priorities, you know.) Like others of my kind, I was drawn to her soft soul, which coursed and rippled with forgiveness and temperance. It was my intention to carry out my duty. It was my intentio