She dragged him in, her latest victim. She was the villain of the story. A mad depraved villainess. Chantal, seeker and killer of suitors.
“Your heart if mine, my love!” she stated with proud eccentricity. “You stole mine last week, and now I shall steal yours!” Her captive, a young dashing man named Francois, was bound by a rope. She dragged him into an ancient sacrificial chamber for the removal of the hearts of virgins. Dark and bleak, a long, wide slab for the sacrifice, each of the four corners having a thrashing torch as the only light source.
“I never loved you!” he shouted. “The potion I bought from you was for her, my true love!”
“That half woman, Giselle? I’m a true goddess compared to her.”
“She’s the only one for me! You promised I could win her, but you sold me a faulty potion!”
“I had to win your attention somehow. Make you mine. I am your goddess, and now you must give me your heart!”