A man walked into the room.  He wore huge armour and a king's fur cloak, an unnecessarily large two-handed sword with a serrated edge at his belt. He glanced at her. "You have killed us, enchantress."

  "I know, my love. Isn't it fascinating?"

  He sighed, running a hand through his unruly dark hair. Even yet, even know he knew her for what she was, she was exquisitely beautiful. Silhouetted against the giant moon, she had milk-white skin without a flaw, long, glossy midnight hair, and delicate features that cast a spell upon him with no words or potions necessary. "My people, my kingdom, my throne. All lost. Think you this a game?"

  "My love, you fail to understand." The carrion birds of war wheeled through the sky over the bloodshed, every now and then letting out a haunting, piercing cry. "It is a game, a finer game has never been played. The game of war and love and poison, my dearest king. And none play it so well as I." A soft smile graced her features and there was a gentle laugh like music on the wind. "One might almost say I have mastered the game. But it never ends, and therefore never can be won."

  He marveled at her, at this monster trapped in an angel's body. "You're despicable."

  "However, you do not despise me, even yet." She came over - she moved with the grace of the dancer - and poured him a drink, offering it to him. "Not even yet, when I have taken your kingdom and your people and given them away? When all you have is broken because you worked so hard to keep me?" Her long, elegant fingers, pianist's fingers, soft as a queen's, brushed over the hilt of his weapon. "Even yet, you could not kill me."

  He glowered at her with eyes like twin storms, but took the drink and made no move for his weapon. "They will be in the castle soon, my wicked, lovely queen. They will kill us both, together. I suppose there is some poetry in that, after all."

  The woman merely smiled.

  Now he understood. The name that could not be written in any recognizable tongue, the name that meant chaos and death. He had thrown all away for this massacre, thrown all away for this witch. And should he go back in time, should he live his life again, he would have made exactly the same choices. "Feel you no remorse? Not even for our daughter?" Was she unchangable? Could she not be saved in these last moments?

  "I think you'll find it's my daughter; she was not biologically yours, I'm afraid." She shrugged and poured herself out a drink. "And as for remorse, not in particular, my love. She would have made a useful asset should she have had my powers, but between you and me, dearest, she was rather a disappointment."

Taking that she had a drink herself as a token for safety, he drank. "I should kill you for that alone."

"You won't, because you love me too well." Not a question; not even a challenge. Just a statement.

She whose name was Chaos and Murder and War and Love and Poison sat back on her windowsill. Her slender black cat with its distinctive greeen eyes rubbed against her leg. "Think silver lining, my love. I never once lied to you."

"So you love the cat?" It seemed almost ludicrous.

Her wicked, angelic features smiled. "The cat? She is a part of my aspect as Poison, which I have been using while you knew me. She is, in essence, a part of myself. Of course I love her, unconditionally."

"Poison?"

"You thought it would be my love aspect, didn't you? You thought that was the only way such a man as yourself - and you were an excellent king until me, by the way - would fall for me and my wickedness was if I was love." She leaned forward to whisper into his ear. "I'll let you in on a secret. Love is poison."

Footsteps could be heard on the stairs leading to Poison's high tower. Yelling and armour and weaponry.

"They're in," he said softly. "They have found us. Time's up, enchantress. They'll find us both, and kill us here in this cold high room of this cold stone tower." He leaned forward, searching her starry blue eyes for something. "Have you no fear, my lady, not even of death?"

She smirked. "You appear to have forgotten something. I am death. I have mastered the game." She stepped away from him. Her dress was like living ink, moving this way and that like the flick of a paintbrush or quill, as if she were a work of art. She was, of course. "And you are also mistaken, my dearest, dearest love. They will not find us both here at all. They will find you dead, and me gone."

So she was to have her last little madness, her last little lie before the end. "And how exactly will you do that, fair angel of death?"

"Poison, my broken king, poison. Not really necessary, since they'll kill you for me anyway, but just for the fun of the game." She set her goblet down on the table and it was quite clearly full. "And now you see?"

He almost laughed. So he was to be cheated, even of his poetic end with his beloved traitor! "Well played, my heartless darling, well played. And your escape?"

Poison laughed, and gave him a little mock curtsy. "Enchantress, remember?" She clicked her slender, milk-white fingers and in a whisper of wind she and the cat were gone.

He smiled. Some part of him, the irrevocable part that loved her, was glad. She really was unstoppable, invincible, immortal.

The door burst open and he slumped back in his seat.

end