An Open Letter

An Open Letter to the Men Who Love Me,

I hope this letter finds you well. I for my part have been engaging in several activities during my time here. Candle-lighting has become one of my favorite pastimes. Ah, the aroma of seafoam and violets fills my darkened bedroom as I pen this. Truly nothing soothes the senses like the darkling flickering light of tiny flames enclosed in amber glass, reflecting like will-o'-the-wisps in the dressing table mirror behind them.

Music as well has caught my interest. Low chants and heavy bass beats at the base instinctual nerve endings in my mind. I feel provoked to move in curves and caresses, half-lidded eyes making my slow dance upon my white satin sheets feel as though I am swimming through sound and sensation, alone in my steadily pulsing universe with every basso thrum causing a primal thrill to course down my spine and explode within me.

More menial tasks have also engaged my attentions. Clothing design for example. I find my designs of late have tended more toward the revealing and sheer. As I write I am wearing one of my designs, a scarlet silken thing that clings possessively across the curve of my hips and breasts to the lace fishnet covering my legs, belly and breasts, ending in a single loop of black lace fastened like a collar about my neck. It is lovely, and the feel of it against my skin is like crimson come to life as it twines itself like sinuous arms around my thighs and chest, gliding sensuously where it comes into contact with my bare skin.

Know this then, these things that have held my interest as you have secluded yourself in your prison of self-pity. Think on what I have said. And know, had you been able to rouse yourself from your self-imposed exile to the world, you could have been here, with me, in my bed.

Yours,

The Dark Lady