Descendants

Desire had two children, Pain and Lust. They were conceived in a dark, gloomy night and were fathered by Exile.

Soon passed the hours, then days, then years. Pain and Lust were all grown up now and the wine of youth rushed through their veins.

Lust was like her mother naught, for she was more passionate than her. She had a thousand wings on her feet and like a tempest she would pass. Destroying anything and everything in her path and sight.

Pain was like his father. Calm, calculated and loyal. He upheld reason. He was like a sweet song whose sound would diminish, but its remembrance and reiteration was immortal.

Lust enters your house like an old widow emanciated by the adversities of society. Grows into a young woman half shy of her own glory when you cater it and then into a venomous serpent when you surrender to it.

It'll stand by your bed and jeer at you when you are in sound sleep and hover over your head when you are awake in your daily death.

Pain is your very self. It's like catching your self's reflection in stagnant filthy water. Much of the pain is self chosen. It walks by your side and protects you. It is not a disease but a cure. It's like a bitter potion offered to you by your soul in the cup of your very heart. Pain stands by your bed and comforts you when you lay awake in your bed, tears flowing from your eyes like blood from a martyr's chest.

And Desire isn't proud of any of her children.