Maybe you can still do it. Maybe your toes can still withstand being bloodied for a few seconds while you cast your spell again. Maybe your body can reclaim its glory and command the music it once owned. Maybe the dance of the seven veils did not stop on the seventh, nor on the eighth but on the eighteenth. Maybe your tongue still holds its power to lash at unknowing foes. Maybe your hand, without its ring, can still draw whiskers of desire on any man's cheek whilst the other aim for the throat.
Maybe you have rested too soon, too long. Maybe, maybe.
...
...
...
It's time to wake up, Salome, and collect the bounty you have denied yourself with after centuries of shame. Your lovers were fools clad in fake gold and you need not to consort with their kind. You are ageless after all. Who are they to brandish their feats at your face when all are nothing compared to what the king rewarded you with. Go on...I am certain there is another John in this time, you can ask for his head.
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