The Spider and the Swan

"Sneaky, silent, deadly, the spider rest in the shadows of the world waiting for its prey to clumsily stumble into its web. Once trapped, and helpless, it devours it. The life of a spider is one filled with deception. Not only must they deceive, but they must see through it in order to obtain whatever they want," her voice radiated across the wooden counter. "That's why, the spider is my favorite creature." It was a tone rooted with intensity, but masked with playfulness. It was alluring, and the scary part was that it was almost like a drug. He needed it, so he kept asking more questions, and despite how sadistic, stupid, or annoying her answers were, he didn't stop listening. It wasn't just him; every man and woman in the bar were silently listening to her speak, and the one person that attempted to speak whenever she spoke was met with the glares of the devoted listeners around them. When she left, they realized her answers didn't make much sense, and when she spoke it was awkward sounding. The syntax was all wrong, and her jumbling didn't make it any better. It left only one question: why were they so drawn?

Tales of this woman spread across the towns, then the land, then the continent, and finally the world. She appeared in the brisk of the night, luring people away from their homes, and into the woods. After that happened, they returned bankrupt, or they didn't. People attempted to claim her identity, and it was always an uncertainty whether she was truly around. But those that had met her knew the difference. After-all, they were the ones who lived truly in fear, because they had been exposed to true helplessness. When she was around, individual thought didn't exist. Whatever she spoke was truth, and that power is what they feared. Fortunately, she rarely emerged from her labyrinth with evil intent, but tonight was a different night. The predator was seeking a prey.