Succubus, Sicarii
Incense essence wafts up into the haze.
You heard the story of the Old Man of the Mountain,
but did you think about his girls?
Just working girls, we give it away for religion.
It's a living, recruiting asassins.
It feels like a part in a play,
convincing this drug-befuddled knife killer
that your pussy is part of his reward, inevitable after life, available now.
It's a happy game for a girl who loves the Old Man.
Nobody else would do it.
Nobody else was asked to.
It's a high-security job, not in the want ads.
The theory on religious labor is that it's donated.
Compensation is in transcendent values.
You hear of another Crusader
knifed through the gut by his faithful servant
and wonder if that's the mole you trained.
Subtle things like that make your day go smoother.
You load another bowl of hash for your new recruit.
It's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it.
Smoke drifts up, but you keep his attention on lower matters.
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