Darling, you are made of fire, and they're all just moths yearning for the flame. You're an inferno of power, incandescent, and they have no choice but to flock to you. Every spark you throw is just another lure to draw them in, and the knowledge that you will burn them to ashes doesn't make you any easier to resist.

Sweetheart, you have a soul of stone, a will made of bedrock and a heart of fertile soil. Everything about you is dark and rich and strong, and you make them feel safe. They turn to you because they have nowhere else to go, no one else to protect them, and they fear the danger too much to consider the storm they're pulling down on you.

Oh, honey, you're an ocean in human form, deceptively still and full of monsters. You are a mystery and a danger, and your depths call out to them with every swell of your tides. They know what fate they might meet in your inner darkness, but the need to know is just too strong to be ignored.

You are the wind, dear, wild and untameable and free, and they cannot let that stand. They must trap you, defeat you, own you, or they'll never be able to rest. It doesn't matter that it's impossible to cage the wind: they'll try, anyway, because they're helpless to do otherwise.