She started visibly when she saw him. "You." She said in a strained whisper. "Me." He returned with a rakish grin and an uplifted eyebrow. Her eyes fell to the floor. "What do you want?" She asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "The same thing I have always wanted." He replied smiling slyly down at her. She closed her eyes biting her lip. This was always so hard...that of course was his intention. "Why?" She said after a silent moment of gathering her nerve and steadying her voice.

"Because you want the same things." He answered very softly his hand reaching out to brush her hair off her cheek and tuck it behind her ear. She shook her head in a small sharp motion. "No I don't." He smiled again...a cruel light in his eyes. "Yes you do...you want what we have had before."

She looked at him a puzzled frown wrinkling her brow. "We have never shared anything." His lips curled up again resembling a snarl more then a smile. "Oh yes, love we did...you remember Paris." He dropped the word Paris into a low husky sigh of breath, barely spoken. She froze for a full minuet looking at him with eyes wide and frightened like a deer's.

"No...that was only a story." She replied after what seemed like an eternity to her. "It was only words...nothing more." She added tears threatening. He smiled again that slow cruel grin...that pierced her heart and made her knees tremble. "Between us, words are more then reality...they are an existence all their own." He replied.

"No." She said sharply, trying to break the spell he was weaving around her. "Oh yes...it was real...so very real...you remember." The last words were almost mesmerizing in their intensity. "No." She repeated. He leaned in close. "Oh yes you do...even if your mind refuses to admit it...your body does...and cries out to me still."

She shook her head taking a step back from him. He advanced again. "Yes...your skin remembers my touch, your ears remember the sweet sound of my name on your lips, your tongue remembers my taste...you remember very well my dear." She continued shaking her head, and backing away from him as he continued advancing on her, stalking her like a predator does its prey.

"You remember still the warmth of my breath on your skin, right before my tongue reached out to taste it, you remember the precise weight of my body on yours, you remember the feel of me between your thighs...begging entrance and then resting so snugly inside you. You remember." He punctuated every 'remember' with a step after her, until she ended up pressed against the wall. She shook her head wildly.

"No, it was only words...thoughts...we were never in Paris, none of that happened." He licked his lips, placing his hands on either side of her on the wall, blocking off her escape. "Words are reality...even now as I say the words you can feel them...the touch of my hand on your face," She turned her cheek to the wall trying desperately to deny that he was right and that she did feel the warm, smooth heat of his hand on her cheek, tenderly caressing it, though his hands remained firmly on the wall. She had known this already...for each word she had felt as if it were happening as he spoke.

"No!" She cried out. He leaned in close his lips hovering over hers. "Don't lie, pet...you know the truth." Tears slid slowly from her eyes as she stared down at the floor trying desperately to think of something. Finally she looked up at him with a wild light in her eyes. "Yes...Yes I feel you...yes I remember..." she admitted angrily, almost shouting. "But it doesn't matter...it won't ever matter...because you aren't real...and you will never be real...you are just the creation of a wistful heart...nothing more." He smiled again breathing across her lips...she could even feel that warm tickle of air. "Oh I'm real." He said, lazy eyes studying her. "No....you aren't." She whispered brokenly and stepped through him.

She looked back...he was gone...again...but he would return...he always did...to taunt her with her desire for him...her love...that refused to die. She knew he wasn't real...just a figment of her imagination. She turned to the bed. "You are mine." He whispered at her shoulder. She spun to face him. He smiled wickedly. "No... I'm not." She told him...trying to be forceful...trying to sound convinced. He laughed at her. "This boy...he will never hold you heart as I do." He said after a few mocking laughs. Her temper flared and her eyes flashed up at him. "It doesn't matter...he can give me things you will never be able to." His eyebrow rose, in that oh so condescending manner. "Oh?" He asked.

"Yes." She snarled at him. "He can give me, real lips to kiss, and real arms to hold me...not just the half remembered feel of yours...if that is what it even is." She continued. He smiled.... this time his eyes hardening and the grin truly feral. "You are mine...you have always been mine and I will claim you." She struck her own condescending pose. "Right, Luce...when hell freezes over."

He snarled at her. "Do not mock me...you may be my bride...you may be my chosen...but I will not permit your mockery." Her eyes narrowed. "I am not your bride...and I will do as I damn well please, I don't care if you are my own personal version of Satan...I may be crazy, but my figments don't give me orders." He growled back at her. "I am not a figment...and you have been my bride, since the June 23, 1986, when you said 'I do'. Or don't you recall?" She glared at him. "I was eight...it was a game...it meant nothing." He smiled meanly. "Oh it meant a great deal...you promised to wed me...and you will be held to your word."

"I was a child, you can not expect to hold me to that oath." She said on the verge of tears. She looked up at him confusion written plainly across her face. "Why, why are you doing this, what can you gain by tormenting me so, why won't you just let me be?" She shook her head looking up at him with pleading eyes.

His face lost all expression as he stared down at her silently. "Say it...tell me you don't love me...and mean it...I'll know if you lie." She looked up at him. She wanted to say it...she did...but damn it...he deserved love too didn't he...and she'd always...she couldn't say it...she did love him...always had in fact...and it made absolutely no sense...he was evil...what he did...what he had done...yet she didn't even really dislike him. "I..." she stopped and looked up into his eyes...such wonderfully amazing eyes. He was so beautiful...and sometimes he looked so much like a lost puppy dog...and then she just wanted to reach out and wrap her arms around him and comfort him.

Still it didn't matter...he was a figment...her figment...but still a figment. "It doesn't matter." She said again on the verge of tears. "It doesn't matter if I love you...you aren't real...and you don't love me...and I can't go on living in a fantasy." She sat down heavily on the bed. "You aren't real." She said again like a mantra. He wasn't real...he'd never be real...he would never actually hold her in his arms...kiss her with that gorgeous mouth of his...run his wonderful hands over her body.... he wasn't real...and she was sick of being alone...so it didn't matter that her heart ached for him...and that no one else measured up to him...he was a figment of her imagination...and that was all he ever could be. She burst into tears.