Desire is of medium height. It is unlikely that any portrait will ever do Desire justice, since to see her (or him) is to love him (or her),- passionately, painfully, to the exclusion of all else.
Desire smells almost subliminally of summer peaches, and casts two shadows: one black and sharp-edged, the other translucent and forever wavering, like heat haze.
Desire smiles in brief flashes, like sunlight glinting from a knife-edge. And there is much else that is knife-like about Desire.
Never a possession, always the possessor, with skin as pale as smoke, and eyes tawny and sharp as yellow wine: Desire is everything you have ever wanted. Whoever you are. Whatever your are.
Everything.
"I am Desire, am I not? That is what I AM; that is what I DO. I make things WANT things. Where I touch, things WANT and NEED and LOVE.. drawn to their objects of desire, like butterflies to a Candle-Flame."
"Moths. You mean MOTHS."
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Text and Images from Season of Mists, © 1990,91 DC Comics Inc, written by Neil Gaiman.
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