Post by hybrid on Dec 23, 2010 17:03:28 GMT -5
Swiftly.
Swiftly. They danced frantically, head over heels, to the music that played softly in the background. Love. They twirled and twirled, and gazed into each other’s eyes with a passion. A passion for love. Love of each other. Dressed in ghost white and nightfall black, the man and woman embraced each other, soaking in the moment, living up the purest of feelings. All eyes were on them, and they knew it too. Rather than create an eerie nervousness or dig a hole through their stomachs, filling the empty space with flying pests, the very element of being the center of attention was quite exhilarating. And all this did was cause the man and woman to pick up the pace, pulling off even more tremendously uncanny manoeuvres that unhinged the audience’s jaws, making way or soft awes from gaping mouths.
“My lord, this is tremendous,” an elderly man wearing a top hat proclaimed, smoking a pipe, giving his young wife a slight shoulder tap.
“It certainly is,” the woman of twenty-two replied, sporting a green dress that exposed her well-kept legs, that appeared endless, yet were capped off by two tiny feet placed in ruby red slippers that glistened like sacred jewels.
“It’s a shame the one you love can’t dance like that,” the man laughed, stroking his gray mustache, blowing smoke rings from his pipe. “After all, I am quite fragile.”
“Maybe your body is,” his wife whispered. “But you are powerful. Rich. Noble. And demand respect. That’s far better than any sort of dancing aplomb or well-timed swag of the hips.”
“My dear woman,” the man grinned as the lights dimmed. “A swag of the hips is one thing. A thrust on the other hand -- from a powerful, rich and noble man such as myself -- well, that’s another story entirely.”
“I must agree,” the woman softly said as the old man’s ring-littered left hand pressed down against her shoulder, feeling down her angelic, winsome gown. A look of utter disgust briefly appeared on the woman’s face before the room fell into darkness, and the last of the candles were blown out, and the final lights were doused.
The room commenced in a thunderous applause for the two dancers who were no longer visible in the large cathedral, built with stone and wood. The cheers were many, and each clap of the hands mimicked that of thunder roaring in an empty countryside, with rain freefalling down onto stretched out oak that consumed the barren landscape. The booming continued until the last pair of hands struck together, finalizing the overwhelming approval.
“Gentlemen,” a voice spoke deeply. A large block of wood on the cathedral’s upper gallery was pushed aside, and a platinum spotlight shined down from above, illuminating the figure in all his glory. “And ladies, naturally,” he continued. “Tonight is a glorious night. And on nights such as this, I like to reflect on the number of infamous witches and warlocks we have murdered this past year. Hideous beasts with razor fangs. Glowing blue eyes, masking their inner redness and thirst for blood. Wrinkling skin over unbreakable bone. Faces as disguises. Bodies just like ours. But they are anything but! I give you, the truth!”
The royalty in attendance never expected what they were about to see. What their fateful elected leader had in store for them when the festivities had ended and stars beamed in the night sky. Six guards entered the main room carrying someone -- or something -- on a board. The thing was tied down. Its mouth was covered, but an inhuman gargling and gnawing startled all who dared to watch. Mouths suddenly returned to their closed state, with hands covering them so that harsh words could not escape. The guards lead the board up to the spotlight, and sat the board straight up, exposing what laid on top of it on all its glory.
Gags, moans, groans and vomiting ensued among the people. “See who they are!” the man cried, looking up at the beast with a twisted smile. “When you remove their faces, eyes and sinister half-human marks, you are left with the truth. The blatant, undisturbed, disgusting, savage, unadulterated… truth!” the audience fell into great shock, as a faint hush spread throughout the wealthy, well-dressed men and women.
“What is it?” the woman in the green dress with endless legs asked, stepping away from her older husband and gazed up at the main attraction.
“Darling, please,” her husband snarled, taking a step forward, but the woman turned back, eyeing her husband with edgy eyes that glowed chaotic in the moonlight that shined in through the far window.
“Stand back,” she demanded, turning back towards the man who stood at the front, High priest Wolven Van Fatespring. The man looked downwards at the defiant woman who seemed more curious than appalled.
“This, my dear lady,” Wolven began, breathing in the fear that penetrated those in attendance. “This is something we caught two months ago. We didn’t bathe it. We didn’t feed it. We beat it, and we stripped it down to its ‘bare’ essentials. This thing got what it deserved after ripping through two villages, sticking its vile, bladed stick into three nuns’ sacred… sacred…”
“Oh, spit it out already,” the woman hissed with a rattled tongue. The high priest raised his brow and muttered softly.
“Labia majora,” he answered. “You, woman, what do you think of this thing?” he asked, and the room fell into an empty, freezing silence.
He had no face to identify with. No eyes to glimpse into. No soul to rectify. No spirit to pray for. His teeth were sharp, stained with yellow and touches of red. Blood red. Its arms were bulky, powerful and scarred. A thick puss on the beast’s chest was beating like a heavy heart with the weight of the world on it. And as the faceless creature looked on at its captures, some people could see beyond the crippled, tortured mask and into a possible love that was caged in the being’s conscience.
“I think it wants to go home.”
“Home?” Wolven laughed with his guards, smiling with uncanny bliss. “You think it wants to go home?”
“So do I,” the woman smiled, placing both her hands to her head. The world stopped spinning for a moment as all eyes fell on the maiden, and all archers pointed their bows at the witch among them.
Blood began to squirt from her husband’s neck, staining her fancy dress with a burning rouge. Shrieks of terror echoed throughout as men and women ran for their lives, going off in all directions. She was a medusa. One of them. She ran as fast as she could, jumping up to the platform, slicing the high priest’s head clear off his shoulders, watching as his head spiralled out of view and into the abyss. Archers aimed and fired, but their shots had no effect on the medusa who had played the them all for fools. The imprisoned monster ripped through his chains and bonds, enraged by blood, giving him a second life.
And together, they tore skin from bone. Preying on the weak. The fallen. The frail. The human resistance. They tore heads from shoulders. They lacerated legs and arms. And when all the men and women had gone. Away into the nearby meadow, screaming ever-so loudly. The warlocks and the witch. The devil and the medusa, they danced to their own sweet song.
In the blood of man, they made love on that spot. With the moonlight shining down, radiating their lustful vengeance. Two beasts in human form. Two dark-dwellers fornicating on sacred ground. And no one to stop them.
They danced. They danced.
Swiftly.
Swiftly. They danced frantically, head over heels, to the music that played softly in the background. Love. They twirled and twirled, and gazed into each other’s eyes with a passion. A passion for love. Love of each other. Dressed in ghost white and nightfall black, the man and woman embraced each other, soaking in the moment, living up the purest of feelings. All eyes were on them, and they knew it too. Rather than create an eerie nervousness or dig a hole through their stomachs, filling the empty space with flying pests, the very element of being the center of attention was quite exhilarating. And all this did was cause the man and woman to pick up the pace, pulling off even more tremendously uncanny manoeuvres that unhinged the audience’s jaws, making way or soft awes from gaping mouths.
“My lord, this is tremendous,” an elderly man wearing a top hat proclaimed, smoking a pipe, giving his young wife a slight shoulder tap.
“It certainly is,” the woman of twenty-two replied, sporting a green dress that exposed her well-kept legs, that appeared endless, yet were capped off by two tiny feet placed in ruby red slippers that glistened like sacred jewels.
“It’s a shame the one you love can’t dance like that,” the man laughed, stroking his gray mustache, blowing smoke rings from his pipe. “After all, I am quite fragile.”
“Maybe your body is,” his wife whispered. “But you are powerful. Rich. Noble. And demand respect. That’s far better than any sort of dancing aplomb or well-timed swag of the hips.”
“My dear woman,” the man grinned as the lights dimmed. “A swag of the hips is one thing. A thrust on the other hand -- from a powerful, rich and noble man such as myself -- well, that’s another story entirely.”
“I must agree,” the woman softly said as the old man’s ring-littered left hand pressed down against her shoulder, feeling down her angelic, winsome gown. A look of utter disgust briefly appeared on the woman’s face before the room fell into darkness, and the last of the candles were blown out, and the final lights were doused.
The room commenced in a thunderous applause for the two dancers who were no longer visible in the large cathedral, built with stone and wood. The cheers were many, and each clap of the hands mimicked that of thunder roaring in an empty countryside, with rain freefalling down onto stretched out oak that consumed the barren landscape. The booming continued until the last pair of hands struck together, finalizing the overwhelming approval.
“Gentlemen,” a voice spoke deeply. A large block of wood on the cathedral’s upper gallery was pushed aside, and a platinum spotlight shined down from above, illuminating the figure in all his glory. “And ladies, naturally,” he continued. “Tonight is a glorious night. And on nights such as this, I like to reflect on the number of infamous witches and warlocks we have murdered this past year. Hideous beasts with razor fangs. Glowing blue eyes, masking their inner redness and thirst for blood. Wrinkling skin over unbreakable bone. Faces as disguises. Bodies just like ours. But they are anything but! I give you, the truth!”
The royalty in attendance never expected what they were about to see. What their fateful elected leader had in store for them when the festivities had ended and stars beamed in the night sky. Six guards entered the main room carrying someone -- or something -- on a board. The thing was tied down. Its mouth was covered, but an inhuman gargling and gnawing startled all who dared to watch. Mouths suddenly returned to their closed state, with hands covering them so that harsh words could not escape. The guards lead the board up to the spotlight, and sat the board straight up, exposing what laid on top of it on all its glory.
Gags, moans, groans and vomiting ensued among the people. “See who they are!” the man cried, looking up at the beast with a twisted smile. “When you remove their faces, eyes and sinister half-human marks, you are left with the truth. The blatant, undisturbed, disgusting, savage, unadulterated… truth!” the audience fell into great shock, as a faint hush spread throughout the wealthy, well-dressed men and women.
“What is it?” the woman in the green dress with endless legs asked, stepping away from her older husband and gazed up at the main attraction.
“Darling, please,” her husband snarled, taking a step forward, but the woman turned back, eyeing her husband with edgy eyes that glowed chaotic in the moonlight that shined in through the far window.
“Stand back,” she demanded, turning back towards the man who stood at the front, High priest Wolven Van Fatespring. The man looked downwards at the defiant woman who seemed more curious than appalled.
“This, my dear lady,” Wolven began, breathing in the fear that penetrated those in attendance. “This is something we caught two months ago. We didn’t bathe it. We didn’t feed it. We beat it, and we stripped it down to its ‘bare’ essentials. This thing got what it deserved after ripping through two villages, sticking its vile, bladed stick into three nuns’ sacred… sacred…”
“Oh, spit it out already,” the woman hissed with a rattled tongue. The high priest raised his brow and muttered softly.
“Labia majora,” he answered. “You, woman, what do you think of this thing?” he asked, and the room fell into an empty, freezing silence.
He had no face to identify with. No eyes to glimpse into. No soul to rectify. No spirit to pray for. His teeth were sharp, stained with yellow and touches of red. Blood red. Its arms were bulky, powerful and scarred. A thick puss on the beast’s chest was beating like a heavy heart with the weight of the world on it. And as the faceless creature looked on at its captures, some people could see beyond the crippled, tortured mask and into a possible love that was caged in the being’s conscience.
“I think it wants to go home.”
“Home?” Wolven laughed with his guards, smiling with uncanny bliss. “You think it wants to go home?”
“So do I,” the woman smiled, placing both her hands to her head. The world stopped spinning for a moment as all eyes fell on the maiden, and all archers pointed their bows at the witch among them.
Blood began to squirt from her husband’s neck, staining her fancy dress with a burning rouge. Shrieks of terror echoed throughout as men and women ran for their lives, going off in all directions. She was a medusa. One of them. She ran as fast as she could, jumping up to the platform, slicing the high priest’s head clear off his shoulders, watching as his head spiralled out of view and into the abyss. Archers aimed and fired, but their shots had no effect on the medusa who had played the them all for fools. The imprisoned monster ripped through his chains and bonds, enraged by blood, giving him a second life.
And together, they tore skin from bone. Preying on the weak. The fallen. The frail. The human resistance. They tore heads from shoulders. They lacerated legs and arms. And when all the men and women had gone. Away into the nearby meadow, screaming ever-so loudly. The warlocks and the witch. The devil and the medusa, they danced to their own sweet song.
In the blood of man, they made love on that spot. With the moonlight shining down, radiating their lustful vengeance. Two beasts in human form. Two dark-dwellers fornicating on sacred ground. And no one to stop them.
They danced. They danced.
Swiftly.