Wicked
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His Name? Micheal Novak. Easy on the eyes, as one could clearly see. Tall, with long flowing hair. Eyes that burn with the flames of hell's fire, intense with an unwavering gaze. He's beautiful and dangerous, a temptation to those who lock eyes with him. And he knows it, you know. He can see the way you look at him. He can feel the desire churning in the pit of your stomach and he likes it. He doesn't need it but he likes it. It's all a game for him and he'll make you like it, make you feel like dropping to your knees and worshiping every inch of his beautiful body. Or maybe he'll feel a little less generous and leave you wanting him instead. A man that beautiful can do whatever he wants, after all, and he's well aware of his hold on people.
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One might find him cocky, or arrogant. Perhaps that wouldn't be too far from the truth, really, even if he himself might not agree. That's just how he seems, so sure of himself, so calm and collected, so...confident. He takes everything in stride as if he's always four steps ahead of everyone else. There's nothing he can't do, no scene he can't blend in with. With that charming, almost boyish voice, and those soft lips...one might think him a demon of their wildest fantasies come to life. He'd laugh at that, of course; he exists for no one else's pleasure. He lives to burn down all in his path, strives to take and take and take all of the pleasures of life for himself and leave nothing but flames in his wake. Who is he, you ask, to be such a cocky, arrogant and spoiled brat of a man? Well, he's the Antichrist. What, like you haven't heard?
