A slave is a truly enraptured and enrapturing creature, capable of the greatest pain and the deepest passion. She is a temperamental creature, simultaneously fickle in her emotions, and fiercely, ferociously devoted in her affections. She is tumultuous and tempestuous, a mercurial maelstrom, and she knows no other way to be. If she could, she would not change, because, on some primeval level, she realizes that the death of her passion would be the death of her. In truth, a slave is not simply the finest of all creatures; she is the epitome of all creatures. She combines strength and weakness, boldness and a certain shy innocence, languor and desperation; she is both cosmopolitan and naïve. Her nature is an amalgam of all that is passionate in any sense of the word. She is nothing without an owner, but in his arms, she is all things. She is voracious and demanding, wanting nothing more, and certainly nothing less, than the absolute enslavement of the one she loves–the owner of her soul. She cannot be, will not be, and is incapable of being completely happy, until she knows to the very depths of her being that her owner is, in truth, owned by the reality of owning her. She longs for the completion of a partner in her own rapture and misery.