01 July 2010

Merlin - 23 The Moonlit Mistress

Merlin - 23 The Moonlit Mistress

In turn to the sunder threat, the shadow watches from the utmost evil darkness, poring olden iniquity, shadows within shadows the night feeds upon itself resulting in only the life viable of the sunset moon. The ruin portend, the ghastly dark that feeds on the rust of fallen armor, a world unto the grave negated space where scion is at tragic fate in predator anger, a realm of obscurity and promised demise beholden to vantage skill and instinctual renewal of all ages of darkness.

The disturbed indestructible skies stare into the night, a sacred silence somewhere between the sacred signs, a thick occlude covered in moth holes drifting across the sky. Disorder falls to antiquity and not but soon after into a forgotten oblivion. Where time is but a loop, a loose stitch in the universal cloth, a dreamer might seize upon a chance, a fatal slip and plunge the fate of planets into chaos. Though her sorrowed heart is a rancid consuming spoil without allay, the vampire princess after witness account of betrayal in her coven, begins this afterlife anew.

A galliard night to remember by brief chance in the high sea of the moonlit forest, beneath a black ocean of starry spangle and winds of soft petals in nocturnal emanation, the princess comes across another of her kind in the lunar shadow. As she picks flowers under the full moon, a dark and foreboding vampire with cavalier stamina approaches her, sliding with supernatural phenomena inside eternal shadow.

Brunet: “Hello sweet wayfarer, I have come to take you to greater worlds...”
He speaks with soft serenade debonair, yet she is quick to interrupt him.
Blond: “I'm not human...”
Brunet: “...O...I'm Brunet, a pleasure to meet you...?”
Blond: “...I'm...Blond...how...the pleasure is all mine...”

In similar action, she levitates and drifts back, a wistfully precautious reaction. As the situation eludes, she remembers her past, the betrayal in the house of vampire and her decided future, as she looks him over, for all of his verve, his clothes are a paltry sham, and she places her basket in a night of curtained darkness with the moonlight from the sky.

Blond: “Should you rest with me?”
Brunet: “I would like that.”

On the ground bathed in lunacy light, he waits with arms behind him staring to the living dead girl. After dropping her cloak in the shadows, she approaches him in the finest shining silk. Kneeling she puts her palm to his chest, opens her mouth gasping days' worth of air with each breath in the warm breeze of the summer night within void and isolation, and metallic blood in the moonlight shines, begins to pour to him from her mouth to his. For only the briefest moment before his lips rush to meet hers, sitting in balance he moves to her as then that they charily begin to yaw with high sheen blood lining to break the silence, until they are both bathed in the blood of the antichrist, insistent pleasure covered in acrimony.