Yeats, in Irish folklore, the Leanan Sidhe is the Dark Muse, an artistic succubus, giving creative gifts in exchange for the artist's life.”“No, n..., no,” Catherine whispered. She gasped as she felt Leanan’s hand caressing her hand.“You are missing your party, darling. It’s your big night”Catherine stared into Leanan’s eyes. “Who are you?” she whispered.She felt Leanan taking her phone from her. I am your lover, your Muse,” she whispered, “Yeats was a twat, he knew nothing.” She bent her head to. ‘What’s wrong?’ He asked. I looked back at him, and replied, ‘Nothing. I just needed a second to…. I just…’ He smiled at me. ‘Don’t worry, my love, I understand.’ He looked at me, smiling softly as he took off his boxers. I took in a breath, and let my gaze look down. My God, it was so beautiful, it was amazing to realise it had been there all this time, and I had never known. I can’t even begin to describe it, the ultimate expression of his manhood. It was big, so beautifully made that it. More

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