She was the little girl lost in the forest, crouched between the trees as the Wolf drew nearer. The hair along her neck lifted, warning her, and she turned her head languidly, drinking in the sight of the beast. He spoke, his voice speaking of ill-will, and a delicious chill swept throughout her body, enticing her. This monster was beautiful. He wished to bring her harm, that much was evident, and she welcomed him with open arms. Tempting fate, daring destiny to tear her to bodily shreds, she walked along the knife's edge without hesitation.
Always, creatures were born egotistical, refusing to accept that they should ever die, or come to harm, but Elvira dreamed only of tempting this, intentionally throwing herself into the path of the train just to see what would happen. Misery delighted her, the deranged, twisted monstrosity that she was. "I hurt myself," she purred, holding out her hand for him to see.