The heat is cloying, smoky. He can barely see through the wild rings of dancers, their bodies sweat-streaked and gleaming in the light of the fire. They all touch – hands clasping hands, fingers brushing hips, chest to chest. The energy is distinctly ual; he knows that the ritual of courtship has been discarded here. People have exchanged the constraints of real life for the promise of a night of freedom.

And yet, he is not willing to let go. He does not want the salacious, grinning men and women to pull him into their dance.

They are free, yes. But at what price? He cannot answer that question, but he knows, deep in his gut that it is not a fair payment. He knows that the woman at the centre of it all, her pale, pale eyes and raven-black hair is not a kind mistress. Her smile says it all.

Red lips stretched over two neat rows of teeth. It’s not carefree; it is calculating. She derives pleasure from this surge of human uality, but what for?

Zi Tao does not know. And he does not want to know. He was wrong to come, he sees now. It was wrong to assuage his curiosity. He should have listened to Jiaheng when he told him it would only end badly. He curses his own stubbornness.

If he creeps away, will they notice him? He’s not sure. They are absorbed in their breathless whirl of touch-kiss-dance. But some of them beckon him, with crooked fingers and appreciative, welcoming looks. She does not even glance at him. She has enough victims, he supposes. What’s one lost to fear of the unknown?

He is naïve to think that. Very naïve. She has already noticed him. She can hear his heartbeat, feel the thrum of fear and curiosity mingling in the just-adult body. He wants something exciting; he reeks of desperation for a new pastime. But he is cautious, she sees. He will not throw himself into the dance because he can sense her how alien she is, her power.

She laughs. He does not yet understand the pleasure of sin and uality. He has not experienced the heat between a partner’s thighs, or the exquisite, aching delight of blood spilled. Some don’t respond to it, but she knows – she is certain, that he will. It’s in his blood. It’s the arrogance of youth come to bear.

Oh, she does love the ones on the cusp of adulthood. To awaken them is a pleasure exceeded by next to nothing.

If she is not quick, however, she will lose him. He’s contemplating leaving. The wavelength of his thoughts is full of doubt, but the longing is still a strong undercurrent. Longing. She can work with that, oh yes. He’s a beautiful boy and now she wants him. The challenge of the unsure is always satisfying.

She calls to him, softly, silently. He has no idea what she is doing, of course. But humans are so very susceptible to her charms, and names are powerful. Names can bring kings to their knees and heroes to their feet. She would know. She’s tried them all.

The call of his name unlocks something deep within. From her seat among the revellers, she can see him hesitating. He doesn’t want to come to her. He is scared of what she represents. Probably because she is unfettered by such things as modesty and concern for others thoughts. Liberation and a trap, all in one package. She is aware of what a contradiction in terms she is. But isn’t everyone a mix of good and bad?

She is just…a little closer to the bad. Licentious, if you will. Not entirely immoral, however.