THE CURSE OF LUST
Cursed my body to endure when all others would fade.
Lust became my chain, immortality my cage.
I was left to walk through centuries alone, surrounded by obsession, without a pack, without protection, without anyone to stand between me and the hunger I inspired.
They called it punishment. I called it survival.
And what a body it was. Cursed or blessed, the distinction had long since blurred. I was not blind to it. The weight of my breasts, the curve of my waist, the shape of my arse—men stared, women stared. I knew precisely why. My mouth betrayed me most of all, lips too full, too soft, as though fashioned for begging or being bitten, claimed.