“I’m not in the mood,” I said as I finished pulling down my shirt. I tried hard not to notice the movements her dress made against her feminine curves. But I was a man and no straight man in his right mind could resist giving the attention demanded by that oh-so-perfect cleavage. “You do not get to choose, mon Bel-Ami,” she said. Hearing her use my name like that did things to me that no human being could have ignored. “Or have you forgotten how this works?” she added. “I haven’t, but no amount of French-silver-tonguing will make me like it,” I retorted. It was a weak protest and we both knew it.
Defeated, the most powerful of the Watchers were imprisoned for eternity, while the weaker ones were condemned to live out their existence on Earth, relegated to the shadows that now occupy human myths and legends.