The trial before me I cannot escape. It is my time.
I must lie with him; it is not made easier knowing the why of it.
Through an act of love that ends in violence & pain & not in the expected sweet ecstasy, my will must prevail or my life will cease.
It has always been this way. I have always known this dark destiny was mine,
all my life's moments leading to this.
I will bear a scar across my throat, red and angry at first, fading to calmer pink, finally dead white, forever to be known.
Separate from most, part of some.
***
He grants me entrance to his chamber, the fire flickering to drive away the gloom. He is tall and muscular, long hair, a beard upon his face.
Possessed of clear blue eyes that will see one more transformed ... or extinguished.
He slips my robe from my shoulders. I am bare underneath.
In like fashion, he bares himself. Sigils upon his body document his travails,
a life inscribed upon the flesh.
They take my breath away, to finally see what was only whispered of ;
the reality only hinted at, now before me.
His eyes gaze steadily into mine, as we lie together before the fire.
Our bodies become gilded gold.
The ritual begins, the motions familiar, the rhythms easy.
How can my traitorous body find pleasure in that which may destroy me?
Should I not be frightened for my life?
Together as one entity now, I do not see the darkest steel raised to seal my fate.
I feel myself at the precipice and start my descent.
The rasp of blade across my throat..........!
***
Her hair a darker scarlet than her blood about her face, her sightless brown eyes watching the flickering fire. She lies quiet and stilled in a pool of her lifeblood I spilled. The truth has been buried inside her by the spilling of my seed. That it takes root and grows is not necessary. As I keep her watch, I trace my marks, remembering each; the prices paid, the sacrifices met. She is but one of many who has lain with me. My task? To seek in her that which lies quiet until awakened. Our coupling will further our line by her rebirth or shorten it, by her death. Always I want to reach out to make a deeper contact, but that is not possible for me. It has been this way always. I am only the instrument through which her fate must pass. My part in this fueled by my own demons.
*** I am alive!
At once I am elated to have survived, then awed by the implications.
He silently bids me rise, and helps me don my robe.
He hands me a mirror so that I may see his handiwork.
My breath catches as I gaze at my reflection.
The fresh scar hides the act of passion that created it and forever it will say I am
Unforgiven.
by narcisse