It’s been a while! And so, to fill the void that has surely been left gaping in your souls, might I offer a dose of serious melodrama.

I’ll sell you the whole seat, but you’ll only need the edge…

Possession Denied

She beckons to him
and he steps from the mist
he appears a strong and handsome warrior
until She calls to him
and he is a puppet on a string
he goes to Her and draws Her close
She allows him but one brief, searing kiss
“Do you love me?” She whispers
pinning him with Her eyes
“Your love, to me, is life itself,” he answers
It is as expected
She smiles
“Then it is time,” She says
and as She draws closer still
Her whispered seduction bids, “Do it!”
Beyond in the shadowy shroud
there is a sound
and again, a man appears
the mist he has fought off still licks around him
another. A warrior, man, lover
puppet
the equal and opposite of the first
his eyes lock upon the entwined forms
he reveals nothing
though in his breast coils a potent hatred
his silent wrath is for the other only
For Her, only Passion’s flame, the chains of Possession, Obsession
feeding the rage
She comes to him, pushing away the other
who has frozen, staring, at the edge of the mist
She beckons
he comes forth
and as She draws him close whispers,
“You’ve come.”
She smiles, something lives behind Her eyes
“I had no choice,” he answers, gazing, lost in Her beauty
“You’re ready?” She asks. She knows the answer
he nods, his eyes tearing away to lock on the other
“Then do it!” She hisses, Her breath igniting his skin, his soul
he breaks from Her and steps back
assessing the other, foe
She moves off, encloaking Herself in a phantom shroud
neither hears Her silent laughter
Though it is evil Itself
Both pawns step forward, weapons drawn
For a moment all is frozen
then silence shatters, as with an inhuman cry they lunge forward
They clash, draw back, and again
They dart and circle, stalk and defend
a cruel mortal dance, for a prize more terrible than either could know
She stands back, drinking in the violence She has orchestrated
Each strike quickens her pulse
At the first drawing of blood
the fire within her flares
and Her eyes burn unnaturally bright with it
The battle rages, each man ragged and panting
trapped in a separate world
not of their own creation
One slips out, and catches sight of Her, but for an instant
The other strikes against this weakness
and the other falls, the spell broken
As He lays upon the ground, the fear and truth rise in His face
His terror, not at the foe poised above to finish Him
but He cannot utter a sound
Just as the near victor is to strike the final blow
he glances over at Her, seeking Her approval
and a reflection of his triumph
He catches the essence of Her inner fire
and becomes a reflection of His enemy
He too freezes, the Two in a horrid fools’ charade
Her being screams, “Do you love me? Finish it!”
And in a flash, the Enemy falls
It is ended
The Two remaining stand and peer down upon the fallen one
In death, the curse of her beauty has been broken.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *