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What do you fight for?
What do you want to achieve?
What is your greatest desire?


Cinder knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted to be strong, feared and nothing could stop her. She took whatever she wished for. She wasn’t afraid of dirtying her hands. But wouldn’t it be easier for someone to do it for her? After all, she was a temptress, a seductress.

A master of manipulation.

She toyed with her victims’ minds like it was the most entertaining game. She would offer them their greatest longings, were they money, recognition, a place to call home, company… She was no stranger to the powers of the female anatomy, to what men and women would do for a brief embrace, for an ephemeral illusion of love.

Love had no meaning for her, anyway.

Her only goal was power.

In her search, she had found herself surrounded by less than untrustworthy companions who had done pretty decent jobs:

A buffoon who would pledge allegiance to whoever was winning.
A cute girl whose only motivations were pain and loyalty.
The son of a murderer with a twisted sense of justice.
And a pretty little street rat.

The later had proven to be the most entertaining of them all. In the beginning, she had been more than afraid of Cinder, for she had seen through her semblance but the oh, so pitiful, rascal had developed a little crush on her.

Cinder found the situation hilarious.

The poor girl worshipped the floor she stepped on but denied it even to herself. Cinder couldn’t help messing with the ruffian’s feelings. It started with small praises, soft hugs, little touches… but it soon escalated. She would give the scoundrel all she craved for and then ignore her for days, making her beg, swallow her pride. And only when the lowlife came crying to her bedpost begging for warmth, she would give in and let her caress the body she venerated. And maybe, if she felt like it, and the robber had been especially good, she would return the favour, teasing her, but abandoning her side before release, leaving her wanting more.

Needing her.

Even so, no matter how cruel she was, the kleptomaniac still loved her, blinded with lust, love and passion, oblivious of her plaything position.
Cinder, on the other hand, had it clear: no strings attached.

When the time came and her companions were no longer useful, she left them without sparing a single glance behind, ignoring the soft whimpers and cries, the muffled screams of her name, begging her to come back.

Such a pathetic display…

She walked away.


It had been fun while it lasted.