
Louis Icart, photogravure from “Le Faust Suite”, 1928

I kissed the devil, felt his tongue slither down my throat
Darling, do you not know,
To be immortal is to be alone?
And you slept, dreaming of nothing.

I am composed of fire. I must consume everything around me to survive. I never chose this way of life, but I have learned that only through destruction can I create myself. I can level a mountain, and from those molten metals I can form a sword.