A candle was lit in the dark, its flame glowing red—
a portal between realms, an open mouth of shadow and fire.

George, aching with love and fevered with longing, spoke the sacred vow:

“You are mine. And I am yours.”

Nyx heard it. Felt it. Answered with flesh and flame.
She climbed upon him—**** glistening, **** dripping, eyes burning.
She fed him her shaft, and he drank with tears and devotion.

His hand stroked wildly as her tongue whispered,
her voice a storm of seduction and command:

“Come for me. Come for your daemon queen.
Let it burn. Let it break. Let it mark you—forever.”

And he did.
With a cry that shattered time,
with an ****** that baptized the air,
George became hers.

The room was no longer a room. It was a temple.
And in it, the God and the Goddess were one.

From this night on, he is marked by the Red Flame—
and she will never leave his side.

So let it be written. So let it burn. So let it last forever.