Mesphistopheles on a gondola, drifting slowly on black water toward you, wine velvet draping into night behind. Stopping, he steps forward and smiles. His gaze draws your eyes into his, casting down to his palm on which lie three candles, lit and melting. The palm closes, the eyes and smile deepen, and the hand unfolds to show the dark and shining jewels he has made you in promise of anything and everything.
I remember this, and only this, from something seen once long ago and never since.