𝑅𝑜𝓈𝑒𝓈, 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀𝒻𝒶𝓈𝓉

"He, spirit that I have seen, may be the devil, and oh, the devil hath power t' assume a pleasing shape.. Yes, and perhaps, out of my weakness and my melancholy, as he is very potent with such spirits, abuses me to damn me"
She read fervently, taking her time to relish in the poetry, then rose her head up; he looked so focused on his plan, and as he rose his eyes on her figure, his dark, mad eyes staring into her soul, as if to discover some of the most profound secrets, he looked just as the devil itself, she thought.
And she had fallen for it, so much that, if she would've had discovered, in that exact moment, that he really knew how to trick the soul, to turn into someone she loved, to make her follow him, she would've gladly forgotten all about it, and did as he wanted, just for her lips to relish in his sweet flavour once more, unconscious of it all. That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain, and she would've not cared.
As there is nothing either good, or bad, but thinking, makes it so.