eyes burn with fire, possibility of mischief promised only if you'll follow. The sway that drives you nuts, pushes you in. The one you want to dance with, turn to the rythm of life with. Eyes are not windows but ensnaring traps with one way in and no way out, except to rip off a part of yourself, which will never really heal. The allure is undeniable, enviable, hard to resist. The consequence is a bittersweet pain, and the trickster gives a bit every time, and is endless in herself and so feels a bond and loss, never to the extent of the maimed survivor, but perhaps enough to make her consider.