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006. FATAL ATTRACTIONS
( —An affinity for something or someone inherently harmful.)
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As Myra endured the filth Mos Eisley called a cantina, albeit mindfully machinating temptations, she came to strike a similarity. A similarity between men and pets. Men were quite like pets; chase him and he will run—sit perfectly still and ignore him, and he'll come purring at your fingertips.
Such mundane and reneging instincts for beings who always believed themselves superior.
The Keshiri pilot didn't require as much as a twitch of her lips to entice him. He went by the name Ilyas Khai, famed for his undefeated Aileron rolls and strange currency, that being secrets. With his plenary violet traits and waxen silver hair, though powerfully built, he was nowhere as formidable as the muscle in the Mandalorian's head.
See, seduction was a gentle art. Shedding a few clothes would function, but that'd be tacky. All she had to do was present proximity and prospect; she was a woman, therefore put before him to be won.
Diabolical, she thought while she breezily strolled to the centre of the little tavern. This was jeopardy to her identity, the lewd psyche that the world hosed down on her. She'd only done this a handful of times before, just because of the slightly inflated ego she was entitled to. Ego besmeared and emboldened witches like her.
Myra had inadvertently dropped the anchor right between the pilot's eyes. The feline enchantress, her curious tattoos and her thought-provoking garments were all he could think about, and the Ichor recoiled at the distasteful visions he conjured.
