Even the memory was enough to get her aroused again. And when the ‘vine’ had invaded her? nothing, nothing she had ever felt before had been anywh...re near as good as that feeling, that feeling of being taken, used, overwhelmed. The power of the forest had fed on her very soul and, in return, had granted her a brief glimpse of rapture. She took another sip of water and told herself to calm down and stop being so stupid. A dream, that’s all it was, just a dream. All these fanciful notions were. Even if it had been, it was unlikely that more than a couple of people could have recognized her from this angle. It was a portrait of anger and abuse and violence. For all that the flames lept around her body, it was obvious that the woman was not the victim. She was the perpetrator.The screen changed again to my most recent painting of Kelly. Still not a photographic portrait. Somehow, in fact, this image was less related to the woman herself and more to the dreamlike attachment to the male. More

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