Shadows

The vaults of heaven opened and out marched the immortal dreams of a thousand and one desert heat nights...This dream entraps the liquid memories of the skin, melting the molecules till I am changing shape vaulting to ether, flowing in the slip stream of this thing, in this place where the mute shout and the sick are made whole, I open up the doors where only you may go and we stride unbowed and wild and young meeting the shadows of the girl I used to know and the boy she fell in love with. This place which travels within us, the rush of potential where we go, fleeing with a sudden rush of wings. It is the complete moment settling sweet in my mind, dissolving like rock sugar leaving the memory of fulsome sweetness. I can not turn back from the woman I became and the man you are, hate is a concept they do not understand and they dance slow waltzes around the unsealing cuts of separation. Craving yet fleeing bondage, clinging to the artifice of indifference yet standing soul enslaved. In a second we end the world in a second we create the multiverse. In words unsaid and half truths we are as master thespians letting tears rain only when the curtain falls. Fleet are the seconds of time as they pass by and ensorcel and encircle layer after layer, encounter after encounter each time the bitter bind of pain draws us even tighter in orbit to the other. This time I will not play, I do not lay down for the lions. No one may walk in the sacred places and I lock away the shadows of the sad eyed girl and her insatiable love. Never to return again, a hunger I will never fill, through reams of paper I write a thousand heroes, I exorcise your ghost , with salt and holiest charms I keep you from me. Someday I will stop looking up, someday your shadow will stop falling before me, I am the whole creature and I consume the exquisite nude pain of loosing you. Someday I will lobotomize the silken wrap of pleasure in your hands, the warm caramel of your words, the aching sensation of flight, the frenzied strumming of arched heart strings and that day I will greet the world with out you. Until then I am curled around the safety of high sacred memories, cauterizing the nerves of my exposed soul as I put on my armor and smile in the land of the blind kings. I journey on, a one of two, a one learning one in the border lands where the light of love forgot to fall...

Beastly

He is a magnificent beast and I, I be his beast tamer, when the lights rise and he walks me on the stage, I hear the gasps from the crowd. That such as me would control such as him.
The whip of the arena does not sound for us, we are locked in the steps of a waltz older than he older than me Inside the music, we stop time, he and me. The sawdust of the arena and roars of delight escape us, I narrow into only he and my beast he has gaze for only for me. He watches me with his great dark eyes, and though he can not spk to me then I feel his thoughts keenly as an assasins dagger. We enslave the arena and the women swoon at my daring and his ferociouness. We do as we must he and me, we make sure they do not see and as the ringmaster returns they will not let us go. . . But we bow as we must. . .in the dark unseen spaces behind the great tents we seem to dissappear.
Some brave souls remain as the show is done, they look for my beast, Others seek me in the shadows behind the candy cane striped canvas, gallant dandies and the sons of honest fathers, they wish to save the girl from the beast. What they find they soon forget but such is the magick of this thing. In the shadows behing the showy red striped tent, the two clowns are asleep wrapped in a spangled blanket, tears marr the fine white of their make-up. They may come upon the flying trapeeze couple, taking wing in the night sky Angels, those seekers may find Madam Bellona among her horses, who speak in voices and have the chests and faces of men, a lost godess and her last hunt. Some come further still and make it past Hercules the resident strong man, yes that Hercules as he chats with the very stern faced magician of our stage once great enchantress Lady Morgaine. And further still the entrepid may come upon our ringmaster especially tired, his whip now a sword, arthur the once king now mere master. And at the end of these, should a seacher persevere he will come upon me curled up with my magnificent beast as we count the stars here. He will watch us laugh and love as we have done ever more. He will see us speak in a language deeper than words. He will see my magnificent beast with his wide corded shoulders and deep bass voice draw as I write our wonderings upon my great book. The seeker may find me magnanimous and I may tell him my story: a tale told in many guises, sometimes I am a princess of Snow white skin , others peasant girl with golden hair sometimes my beast a prince whose valour is famed, others he is himself, darkly beautiful. I will tell him of the Circus of Lost Dreams and how we the last heroes and myths man believes in float from city to city sustained on belief. He will listen to my tale and he will think himself a wise man. Some even vow to believe, to read the old stories so that we may be sustained. But on the touch of sunrise he will find himself asleep in an empty field. He may wake changed touched by the magick of stories, then again he may wake and continue his life ignoring the stories. And somewhere in a city many years from there where the citizens wipe sleep from their eyes, A circus has appeared where there was none last night, and the people watch as Bellona wipes down her centaurs taking them for horses, they see tumbling and swinging when the angels soar, they see a whip when excalibur sings and as the show reaches a climax and the magnificent beast and his keeper enter, they see fear and fright where we are the oldest of love stories. And as I loose myself in the world of my beautiful beast, I take comfort that whilst they may not know us as lovers. They feel what we are and deep in all their secret places love is alive as ever and as long as they keep faith with love, this belief will be enough so that I may forever be with he, he my magnificent beast and I his onliest love. . .

The Words of Somara As She Faces Hern the Horned Lord in Battle

(When Somara came face to face with the Viking Lords, these were the words...she spoke)

And her vengeance shall fall upon you like a voracious cloud, for all she was of softness and light, to you she will seem as a storm, her light falling upon your face like lightening, she will permeate the very bedrock of your being seething within your ground flow till you forget the beating source of you. She will be as a veil of a darkness shielding the warmth of the sun from the plains of your soul. You have shackled her as a child, you have plundered her as a woman, now she rises as a warrior and she will be as rain steadily eroding the cliffs of your arrogance, she will be as water is within and without all that surrounds you, and as you seek to understand one form she will evaporate into another. She will forgo all softness, when her hands come upon you with them fall the shadow of death. She will never be gone from you, she will walk with your sons and their sons and their son's sons so that all who hear your name should curse alliance with you! She is as close to you as the darkness of your sins and as you can not cleanse them, so too you will fail to cleanse your line of her taint. Thus I speak Storm Lord and so mote it be. . . You struck me down un knowing but I shall rise to fall upon you and yours like a black bane for I am She, she of the dark moon, she who walks both lands, she who conquered death, she who gave her life so that the land may live, she whose scales will weigh your soul, she who walks the path of the 7 mysteries, I am SHE that the Romans call Venus, She that the Greeks called Athena, She the Babylonians name Astarte, She the Assyrians name Inanna, She the Egyptians name Isis, the queen of heaven! It was my voice that sang the universe into being, it is I that called forth men and beasts, but now It shall be my hand to call forth your doom, I ride out with steeds of smoke and hounds of flame and I hunt Dias Immortalis, I am SHE whose will can not be denied, and my will is your death, I am she that will reap your soul, SHE who will hunt you like a hind upon a midnight moor, SHE who wears the lines of your murder like a badge of glory! She whose legend will out live your own, she into whose cloak the dark night comes to rest. She who will unmake you I am SHE. And as I will it so mote it be !

Birth of a Legend

Somara Siobhan watched from the tower above the gates, her hand rested ever on the turquoise pommel of her sword. She was the gate keeper of Siobhan castle, she was chosen among all her sisters and cousins. She would never forget the day she received the calling, like all the women of her line on reaching her womanhood she had spent the night at Goddess falls, unlike her sisters and cousins, she had seen the lady rise from the water. She came back wearing the goddess marks on her shoulders and down her arms and that had decided her fate. Her sisters and cousins had rejoiced for they were now free to marry and bear children.

For Somara she was schooled in languages with the sons of Lords, she was trained in the arts of war, she was taught the ways of the wise Druids and being as she was goddess touched, she exceeded all the young men of her age. Somara had drawn her blade from the rock at Goddess falls in her 20th year and with that she had assumed her duties. Now it had been ten years that Somara. Siobhan had watched over the keep and in her time she had killed mauruading men, defeated bog beasts, held the keep against Vikings and kept the peace dealing justice, Somara's sword had earned the name of Soul Snatcher, and she herself had become afeared as her legend spread through the four directions.

Somara felt the reassuring pulse of Snatcher at her hip as she watched the men in her charge and surveyed the keep before her. The sun loomed over the ocean, lavishing it with wild colour to make up for the long darkness of the night almost nigh and Somara awaited the return of all the citizens of Siobhan keep, night was a time of peace and deep thinking for her, She watched the women came from the fields. And as she watched there in the distance she saw it, dust from horses feet. She rang the bell at once and as the women harried behind the gate. Somara's battle cry rallied the men at arms to her and as the horsemen came to the keep, Somara awaited them at the locked gates.

Somara's unflinching gaze remained steady as the armoured horsemen swept into the valley. They were twenty in all, hammered armour gleaming in the twilight, he at their head wore a golden circlet and torques riding his wide arms. His hair was almost as flax and as he dismounted her stood almost two heads above Somara. His eyes were like those of a great woods wolf and he stood straight as Somara drew her sword:
'What seek you in the lands of Siobhan?'
His odd yellow gaze held hers as he spoke:
' we seek counsel with the Legendary Gatekeeper of Siobhan. We come in peace, Lady'
As was custom, he then offered Somara his sword pommel first, showing the honour of his words through his willingness to be without arms. Somara accepted his sword, and with word from her the spiked gates were opened and the lord of the keep waited to welcome the guests. Somara bowed in the visitors and then she was gone. Even as the blonde giant and his men were swept away on a welcoming tide, she disappeared out the gates to do the nightly patrols. Somara never met with visiting Lords, she kept her own counsel, to whom could she speak?

The women feared her, the men resented her prowess and even though they all respected her, Somara did not have the softness of love. As she approached the slow murmur of Goddess falls, Somara slowed she sat on the same stone she had since that fated night 10 years b ack. Somara could see the entire keep from her vantage, its lights gleaming, music riding the air, she would lay down her life for them and when she would die, her body would be interred below the walls so her spirit would always guard the people of Siobhan, yet none of them knew her. Only the little children would come to her of their own will, none else dared approach her. Sometimes days would pass and the only words she spoke would be commands to her second Brastias. She kept her vigil in silence, when she heard it, a slow repetitive sound of cloth being beaten against rock. Somara was at once alarmed, which house would allow their daughter out at this hour, how had she gone out city gates? Somara turned to find a woman, not a girl washing dark clothes on the rock exactly beneath the falls. Somara could not believe this woman had sneaked past her! She stood up and hailed the woman, the washer woman at the falls looked at Somara with a grey gaze very much like her own.
' Somara of Siobhan, well met'

Somara was alert, her hand on her throwing dagger, she did not know this woman who hailed her by name. Somara returned her greeting with one of her own:
' Well met, daughter'

The woman stood up and Somara was shocked at her height. The washer woman stood tall as Somara herself, and like Somara she had glossy black hair flowing down her back. She regarded Somara with amusement in her grey gaze:
' Daughter? Why Somara of Siobhan do I appear a youngling?!'
Somara answered with caution as she palmed her daggers:
' No but as one sworn to war, I have no sisters, you hailed me by my name and as such know as Goddess touched all women and men are as children in my protection'
The washer woman smiled at Somara's words,
'You claim Goddess touched, yet you do not know me Somara?
At once the white dress of the washer woman disappeared and the Black cloak and armour of Baine Dub Morrigen(the Black Morrigen) replaced them. Somara gasped as the black thunder eagle came to rest on the Goddess's shoulder and her steeds of smoke and flame appeared in the clearing. Somara drew snatcher and sank to her knees.
'The Dark star of the heavens, she who is the writer of fates, the three who are one, I offer you the blood of my sword, the soul of my body and the loyalty of my heart'
Somara spoke her vow every Beltane and Samhain and the words flowed as ever. Somara felt the goddess draw closer,
'Rise Somara of Siobhan, you are ever among the faithful, you have earned your place in the Summerland besides your sisters in Hall of All Days'
Somara rose and before her she saw the full and fearsome form of Baine Dub Morigen.
' I come to you as the dark star, as the Black Morrigen, as a warrior, for only a warrior may understand a warrior heart'
As the Goddess spoke, she drew inches of the ground a halo of light over her body, her hair blowing in an unseen wind. The goddess looked toward the keep below.
'You have visitors below, you host the blessed and exalted Wolf Lord, Llugnir App Gwain.'
Somara felt alarm shoot through the veins of her sword arm, the wolf lord was a famed warrior and the Baine Dub Morrigen was a goddess of warning! Somara wished to turn and run, had she left her lord vulnerable?!
' Stay your panic, daughter, Llugnir does not pose any danger to you and yours, in fact I bring him to you with a purpose.
The Goddess touched her hand to the curve of Somara's face:
' I made you a wonderous and fearsome thing Somara, I knit you in my image, placing some of my essence with in you, you are as close a daughter of my flesh as a goddess may come, War is coming to the Green Isle Somara, we can not escape it' It will be a bloody battle for the very soul of this land, many will die before peace returns but the peace will be a lasting peace and one high king will unite all Eire under my banner. This high king shall unite the fey, the sidhe and the race of men and be victorious in every battle. This high king shall bear mine own sword and ride mine own steed, I shall gift this High king the cloak of Ravens so that this high king may hide in plain sight of his enemies.'
Somara understood her path now:
' I accept your will my lady, I will fight with Llugnir and until he is high king'
The Goddess laughed such a joyous sound that it seemed to fill Somara's mind like mead and curl the edges of her own mouth.
' Somara Siobhan, Mistress of Soul Snatcher, whose eyes are as mine, whose hair is as mine, whose magick stems from mine, who is my mortal daughter, I did not make you to be a follower, you are the high King and Llugnir comes to follow you!'
Somara lost her normally regimentally organised thoughts
' I a high king, I am but a solider'
' yet you are mine and this is what you are meant for, yet I will offer you choice, you may return to Siobhan as you are gifted and fierce and you will fight for your keep, Llugnir will fight alone and the other races will escape to the Summerland, another flag will fly and I will be gone from the race of men. Your keep will survive the war and so shall you but Eire as we know her shall change. Or you may meet with Llugnir, rise with him to the lands of the Sidhe for he is of a Sidhe father and barter their alliance, you will return and you will fight, it will be long and bloody and Siobhan will fall to rise again but you will end as high king, with Llugnir as your consort, the mother of fine sons. Men will follow you as they follow me. What say you Somara?'.

Somara thought carefully, her people and her destiny warred in her mind, should she preserve her keep and let the Eire fall? Somara looked at her arms and her tattoos she felt the pulse of magick in her hands, she looked at the grave eyed Goddess and She was decided
' I do not seek war or glory, but if war is upon me I must fight, If there is glory to be had I will win it' I am your's Lady, all I am and all I will ever be is through you and I will fight under your banner till the skies bleed and this earth stand still, as long as you sustain breathe in this body I will stand in your faith against your enemies and the enemies of the land of my fathers!' ' Sin Siriche Baine Dub. App Morrigen A Nualde!' (By the name of the Black Morrigen, I am the black death of battle!)
The Baine Dubh Morrigen looked in wonder at this her mortal child:
' your vow is true and your courage untold, for this I bear you blessings.'
As she spoke, the Goddess became Suniriche Rhiannon, the maiden, in her hands the chalice of the ages:
' As you must travel among the Sidhe and fey I give you true sight no spell or glamour will stand before you,
so saying she touched Somara's eyes with water from the chalice.
'And so that words do not deceive you I give you true hearing, you will tell the ring of truth from words tainted with lies'
so saying she touched Somara's ears. '
And so that men will follow you I give you the gift of true speech!'

The goddess drew back and before Somara Rhianon of the Spring became Danu of the Hearth in her pure white rainment with gold ornaments, her hair of flame flowing in the breeze
' I give you the torques of Cruce'
so saying Somara felt the golden bands appear and fasten around her wrists,
'They bear gold from the Summerland and will bring you safely to home and hearth how ever far you may roam, My other gifts may not be of power but love and family are a magick of their own. I give you these rings, without end and without beginning from starsteel they will seal the hand fasting between you and Llugnir so that your bond will be unshakable and you will find each other no matter how dark the night. And finally I give you the gift of three bairns. Two shall be heroes, who will earn fame and acclaim and one shall be a daughter so fair that Sidhe princes shall claim her and she will reign in the Summerland'
So saying Danu vanished and the Baine Dub Morrigen stood before Somara.
'Give me snatcher'
the goddess commanded as Somara presented Snatcher to the Goddess and she grasped the pommel it changed, the turquoise hilt became a blood ruby and the steel became darker,
'this is of fairy make, the Baine Dubh (black death), it will never fail you! Then the Morrigen drew her hands in the air and a steed appeared black as night,
'She is Thunder, she is swifter than time and she will carry you with pride through realms no man bred horse could reach. The Morrigen then draped a cloak of raven feathers over Somara,
'Wear the raven cloak and you will be shielded from the gazes of all who seek you. But above this all Somara I gift you this: Invoke me by blood and blade and I will answer, before every battle my eagle shall go before thee, he who names you his enemy, makes an enemy of me, for you are mine Biodh sé amhlaidh !'
At the words of the Goddess lightening flashed to the ground and the great eagle cried once twice thrice! Somara looked to the goddess.
' I am your knight and I fight to the death of my enemies and yours, for the honour of you and the glory of your legend! Walk with me OH Mighty Mistress of the Dark places, let our shadows go before us and death sweep our enemies like a tide'
Somara rose to find the Lady gone but there in her hand was the Ruby pommel of Snatcher, in the ground next to where she knelt stood the red standard of the Black Goddess emblazoned with her eagle. She tucked the two rings into her doublet and slung her cloak over her shoulders marvelling at the golden cuffs on her wrists. The horse of midnight was readied with silver saddle and as mounted her, Somara felt Thunder shiver with anticipation. The weight of her fate rose easy on her shoulders and as she flew into the keep below the great eagle cried once twice thrice.
Somara burst through the doors of her lords great hearth room and gasps rose from the hall for if they thought her fearsome before now she was terrifying, her beauty holding an edge of animal ferocity terrible to behold.
' The Morrigen herself stands in my hall'
exclaimed her Lord. Somara had eyes only for the Wolf Lord.
' I answer yes to you Llugnir of the Sidhe, let us seal this vow now.'

So saying Somara drew the rings of fastening from her doublet. Llugnir came forward, only then did Somara see He too was Goddess marked. He drew the ring from her palm and as he placed it in her finger, he spoke Sidhe vows
' I will go with you through hell or heaven, I will fight by your side, let your enemies know me. I will walk with you through the count of your years ever faithful. I forsake all others to share your flesh, I forsake the pleasures of the summer lands lest you are with me, So I am given let us be bound'
Somara thought she saw the red flame of Danu's hair in the crowd and as she returned his vow. She thought she heard Danu's voice resound with So mote it be!
She answered the question in Llugnirs eyes with her next words
' We ride'.
As the four riders sped out the keep, towards the southern Summer Lands, Somara thrust Snatcher skyward
' Sin Siriche Baine Dub. App Morrigen A Nualde!'
Her cry was echoed in the sky and as she thundered toward her destiny, the Legend of High King Somara app Baine Dubh Morrigen ( daughter of black goddess Morrigen) Mistress of Wolf keep, Beloved of the Wolf Lord Llugnir , mother to Gwain the Great, LlweLyn the Conquering Lion and Aeval Queen of the Summerland was born!

Games . . .

I have lived through many a year, many great tides of men have passed, many kings have risen only to fall again. This very earth has shifted and changed faces, yet in the dark separate places she remains the same. I have seen it all, always on the edge of the lives of mortal men, I have watched them grow and evolve yet I had yet to find him, the once and future King.

In our time we were many things him and I. The witch and the golden king, an enchantress and a warrior, A wicked woman and a righteous man, A defeated priestess and a pillaging barbarian, I the keeper of the chalice, He ever seeking it, mother and father, enemies and lovers . . .For we played on a scale that has fallen from the understanding of modern man. He and I like old friends over a chess board putting into play, our great tale...
The Merlin, he knew us, he knew our truth, we were his greatest delight and his greatest pain. He chastised us and laughed with us in equal measure, He knew what we knew that for balance to remain, us two must always be, ever in our roles changing and rearranging but always so . . . He did all he could Merlin Of the Old Way, to bind our bond, yet the light of the once and future King was to great. It drew many lesser sparks to him, among them the Green Knight, he had his mother in him, water borne of the lady of the lake, and he was mutable! The most perfect knight! He and the King became as brothers and I watched, I fought and I hoped! Then she came, Gwenivire of the fair hair, the daughter of a far flung proxy lord, still I watched, I gave peace and I waited! She became the Lady of Camelot and still I watched, I bided my time, numbed the edge of my pain and I hoped! Then as she had enslaved the Golden King, so too she bent the gaze of his most faithful, still I watched for I felt the weight of fate upon me! She ended it all, she upended the board and flung our pieces to the four winds! Gwenivire the fair tore apart this Camelot, she didn't play her hand and leave to come again in another guise, she brought knight against King and father against son! At the end she had vanished and I stood in the ruins, the mother of a dead boy, the lover of a once and no more king.
The Merlin knew as did I that the world would not rise to the belief that the goodness of a man lies in his honour, with my King lay righteousness and good slain. The balance has been lost, and I Morgaine have sought him ever since, I have kept watch over the affairs of men, I am not one to weep and bewail my fate, as Gwenivire did, I simply know what I must do and I seek him!
And tonight all my magicks have brought me here and as I doff my cloak and enter the room, I spy the Merlin already here. I march up to the barkeep and he opens the trap door. I descend. The doors to the after-world may have shifted through time but the living may not pass here even immortals such as I fear to travail, but I am no petty humanling, I am the Morgaine and things of the dark know my name. I come upon things that would drive men mad, claw out their eyes to unsee those sights. I never waiver and my feet never leave the path. I am the Morgaine and no mere door will block my way. I kill things and rend their spirits, I make their flesh into my bread. I am the Morgaine and I descend even hell should fear my vengeance.

The once and future king is the end of my path, his body guarded by the sisters three, maiden mother crone. They turn to me and speak in one voice that is three: what seek you here Morgaine of Avalon? Seek you to revive your fatal foe, seek you to revive the murderer of your son, seek you to revive the man that broke your woman's heart? For know this daughter of dark, if u raise the once King, you raise all of Camelot, even Gwenivire will eventually rise. Know this Morgaine, We know you we see you sister and we will let you return unscathed, only if you do not claim the once King. Theirs was no empty threat for between the trinitrate goddesses was power enough to best even me, but I had eaten the fruits of the dead, I had come to the seventh ring of the after world, I drew Excalibur and it burned with blue flame. They drew back at this, Excalibur, their eyes following me, this they did not expect, I take Excalibur and I place it in his hands, the three cry out as one and such light fills the seventh ring as they have never seen!

He is rising I feel my blood quicken and my magick spring to life, the closer he comes the more spiral of power with in me grows. The three are gone, only one remains, she the crone looks at me with sad eyes, Morgaine Arthurs bane, you have brought your enemy back and he will be all he ever was. . . But this I give you for your courage: when this round of your dance is through, you will rest together him and you! I turn from the place, for Arthur lies on the slab no more. I fight my way and kill and maim, until I see the trap door, as I ascend, I hear his laugh. My skin quickens to the sound, as I pull on my cloak and turn to leave I feel it again, the world rebalancing, he is here!

Once again I will size him up from the other side of the board, we will fight, we shall fall we shall rise and this time on Goddess's vow, this time I shall rest besides him when it is all over. As I turn to leave, the Merlin, comes to me: stay he implores me, stay beside him, be the mistress of this Camelot, you are his match, his balance, he tells me!

All this I know, but also I know I may not stay! I must prepare, I must fight, eternally over the spirits of man, the twin dragons of good and dark! But I know too that I will curve my hand around the softness of my sons face, and I will bide a time in another century with the once and always King and I will rest by his side but for now there are games afoot and I am the Morgaine, there are plans to plan, schemes to make and alliances to earn. I escape in to blessed darkness, the golden time of Arthur had come again, and this time I played to win

Udhjat-Cleopatra Selene

(The words that follow are my version of historical truth, it is true that Cleopatra 'Queen of Kings and the Living Isis' bore twin children to Marc Anthony. These children of hers were Aleksander Helios ( lord of the sun) and Cleopatra Selene (mistress of the moon). When the vengeful Roman's invaded Egypt and destroyed the Pharos Lighthouse and the Great Library of Alexandria, she commited suicide and her children were taken to Rome to be part of Octavius's victory parade. The young Aleksander Helios ran away and history bears no further record of him. Cleopatra Selene however went on to become absolute monarch of Muaritianna and wife to a son of Julius Caesar. Her face appears on coins and she single handedly moved the centre of Isis worship to Muaritianna by building the world's largest temple to her great goddess. History records that Octavius favoured Selene and she was a favourite of the people of Rome and all it's provinces. This was largely due to the spread of the Isis cult. In these pre- christian days worship of Isis had spread to almost all parts of the known world, shades of Isis were celebrated in all the great goddess worshipping regions. Now the cool thing was that in texts found in Isis temples dated years before Selene's birth, her birth was prophesized and she was meant to be a great liberator of her people and a warrior for Isis. Cleopatra even dedicated her infant daughter to Isis following the letter of the prophecy. The records and monuments sill stand in Egypt today. All documents around Selene note some common things: she was a warrior princess with fearsome fighting skills, she worshipped Isis all her days and She single handedly revived and kept the cult of Isis alive in the face of advancing monotheist religions like (Christianity and Islam). She dissappeared during a sea voyage and was survived by her son.
Whether she was the favoured of Isis or had the magical powers Isis was noted for is unknown but I found her real life story so fascinating I made a myth just for her! )


Selene Isis of the House of Ptolemy was tired. Her back muscles roared with fire, her arms ran slick with gore, great gouts of blood anointed her armor, yet she still braced herself for more. Just a fortnight past she had been a resident of Alexandria, greatest of ancient cities. A princess, the daughter of Cleopatra herself. Selene was a priestess of Isis Most High, like her mother before her,. Promised to the goddess from the day of birth, her mother had prophesized that Selene would change the fate of the world. She had walked the paths of the seven mysteries. She had read from the millions of scrolls gathered in the Great Library of Aleksandria, and studied at the feet of great thinkers from around the known world, who had gathered about her enlightened mother like moths to a flame. She still remembered the late night discussions where her mother would discuss the spirit of discovery, of growth and research that she wished to cultivate in her Egypt. Selene could still see the wonder on the faces of sailors who came to the port of Aleksandria, and thanked the Gods for the Wonder of the Pharos Light House. She had been revered amongst the Egyptian people as the a living embodiment of Isis, The All Mother.

Today she was a prisoner of Rome . She had been brought over the seas in the dark underbelly of Roman vessels still clad in her blood stained mourning robes. She had been paraded through the Roman Streets as a sign of Octavian's victory over the 'serpent' Queen Cleopatra. She had been beaten bloody for not bowing and starved for her insolence. The had delighted in laying the lash on the 'heathen'. She could still picture that Roman Armor on the streets of her home. The dying men who were left to rot in streets, with out the proper burial rights. The shrieks as women were raped. The 'heathen' bled but she did not cry out for what could compare to watching Aleksandria burn.

She remembered the Emperor Octavian's boastful speech at the forum, 'He had not taken even a cup out of darkest Egypt' but her mothers famed pearls hung on his wife's neck and her golden bracelets wend around his wrists. The Romans had risked the curse of Isis herself by daring to rob the tombs of Aleksandria's dead. Though even more than the loss of their treasures, more than the torture of watching the great library burn, Selene felt the loss of Isis. For even as the soldiers dragged her away, she felt Isis slip away from her. For all her days, Selene had walked with Isis, she had known the bliss of a deep personal relationship with Isis, she had felt the warmth of the goddess radiate from her like living thing. The familiar warmth of the Heka, source of all her magickal power and evidence of her connection to the Great Goddess was gone. The comfortable ease of having Isis's spirit touch her own, was gone. She felt like an empty cup and in the space where the Goddess had been, Selene spilled anger. Anger for her family, anger for her people, anger for her Aleksandria and anger for all Egypt.

When the Roman soldiers had brought her to the great arena of gladiators, They brought her to die. The General announced her as 'the illegitimate daughter of the whore of Egypt Cleopatra'. Selene had not known the purpose this great space, her mother had would have been horrified at this killing for sport, in front of baying crowds driven wild with blood lust. Isis was the All Mother even the animals which died here for sport were part of her great circle. Such senseless death was unthinkable in Egypt. The Rows upon rows of Roman Citizens had jeered and spat at her as the soldiers had shoved her roughly in the arena. The women had gasped at the protection tattoos that flowed down her arms, the beads of lapis bound in her hair and the sigil of the Wadjet eye on her neck that marked her a priestess. Selene had borne it all, her head held high as if the double crowns of Egypt sat upon it, her steady Nile green gaze on the emperor in his golden box. She remembered her mothers last words to her the same words writ over the doors to Isis's temple: 'Daughter, Thou art a Queen of Kings!'. Selene knew that to each Roman eye watching, She was Egypt and Egypt did not bow! They had first pitted her against a Nubian slave girl. Selene watched the emperor sit forward waiting for her blood to spill to the sand. Drawing her sword from its belt, she offered the Nubian women, the salute of the honorable death. Egypt would not die today.

The first fight was swift, Selene trained in the killing arts of all the five peoples, used force with deadly precision. The house of Ptolemy did not raise frightened cosseted women, Selene was descended from a line of Queens who had led armies into battle. Inside her lay the Fury of Cleopatra's defeat of the Hysops , her victory over the Nubians, her triumphs over the Pathans, her mothers fury boiled in her blood. After Selene's first kill, came the Gladiators, trained to murder. Selene swung her blade like a deadly whirl wind. Destruction followed the deadly swing of her beaded hair. She cut a bloody swathe in the wall of muscled destroyers. Her sword slashing through muscle, crushing through bones, as she hamstrung a large Mediterranean looking giant. She grabbed his double edged kitana, with a blade in each hand, she brought forth floods of blood staining the arena red. Selene felt glorious, in the full roar of battle, each strike of her fatal blades, a strike into the heart of Rome. In the full flight of her battle frenzy, Selene could no longer hear the crowd of gladiator arena regulars, the Romans were silent. Selene was killing like a battle born goddess, the rabble was silent. She looked like a thing out their worst nightmares, a woman killing like an instinctual predator, their women were possessions things to be traded in marriage for wealth and position, Selene was nothing they recognized as female. Selene not hear the silence of the rabble, she did not hear the king order in the animals, the sound of her own heartbeat drummed in her head and though her hands were slick with blood, she never loosened her hands on the cross guards. And as the caged beasts were set free, she thrust her swords heavenward, the arena thundered with her cry: for Isis!
As the last echoes of Selene's cry echoed through the packed arena, Octavian understood why her mother had conquered Caesar and disarmed Mark Antony, she had been like her daughter: unshakable and without fear. Selene stood unmoved as the tide of every beast the African plain had to offer stormed toward her. She regretted that they would die, but she know she must kill or be killed. With a roar of her own, she launched herself across the arena. As she ran Selene felt something she had missed in all the long darkness of Rome. She felt Isis, in the soft scent of sandalwood that danced in the air, in the warmth that rolled in her veins. Isis walked with her again, the same yet, something was infinitely different. Selene felt the familiar warmth of her magick gather in her belly, hotter that before, ferocious like the flames of a smith forge.
Selene was bent double in pain, the gathering of Hekka laid her low. The animals drew closer still. The silent Roman crowd was almost disappointed, they wanted the bloody and fury of her battle fever. The animals were almost upon her now, but Selene saw naught.
Her bowed body still slumped in the sand but her spirit stood in a space she did not know. Before her she saw the green waters of the Inundated Nile, she saw the millions of incandescent sparks as the life-bearing sunshine touched the waters that seemed to swirl before her. She saw the life that teemed in the Nile, the cold slide of alligators, The multitudes of crystal scaled fish, the hippopotami that yawned on her banks, the leaping antelope that drank on her banks, at peace with the desert lions garlanded in pale gold manes. She felt the frisson of joy that swept through Egypt at the fertility, at the life that was unleashed. Then the picture changed she saw the crops wither on the stalk, the dry salt caked mud of the riverbanks grow white with dehydration, the animals weakened fall to sword and claw, eventually the people grew gaunt and died

, not only the diverse people of Egypt but she saw the great emperors of Rome, unable to feed their massive empire, Egypt the breadbasket of Rome was finally spent.

(Selene's storry will reach completion next week!)

The stairs unfurl before me like they have materialized from the very air itself, I know that it is simply the mist thinning but the castle before me is swathed in legend thicker than the perpetual mist surrounding it and it is all too easy to believe the stories. The insubstantial silk of the wedding gown swirls on the wind and I draw my whisper thin veil closer to my bare shoulders. This is not the vision I had of my wedding night. Just a day past, I had been a peasant girl of the Village-in-the-Mist. I had done the things all other girls do, filling the water, getting the evening meal for my father and brothers, a normal work a day life. I had no dreams of the castle of the hill or it’s notorious master. I had never participated in the Choosing, the ceremony that happened whenever a wife was required for whoever the lord of the keep was in need of a wife. I had never fancied the longevity of the job! Yet here I was climbing up the stairs to the keep, officially wed by proxy to the Beast of the Mists. When his Lordships man had knocked on the cottage door, my father had welcomed him with the finest mead and bread, and shaken hands over a deal that would make him the richest man in our village. Yes, for bolts of Orient silk, gold and gems, my father had sold me to the Beast. He had dismissed my fears and signed on the banns. My brothers brought me as far as the knights would allow, and now as the feast fires burned bright in the village far below I was climbing to an unknown fate.

The pale disk of a winter moon finally crept over the horizon and in the rising dark, the stone crags of the Lair became visible. The castle rose from the mountain like a great dagger, each of the windows illuminated with the yellow light of tallow candles. I had expected a waiting party, some servants, or at least a knight but the castle doors remained shut. Their iron studded exteriors seemed forbidding in the extreme. I briefly considered running back down the jagged stairs, back to the confines of my room with the white drapes, but the retribution of the Beast and the fate of my brothers, the youngest of whom had cried when leaving me at the monastery, stopped my steps. I knocked firmly on the door and stood back. The door opened silently, and silhouetted in the light streaming from the castles empty door, stood a woman I recognized from the village. During the witch-hunts, priests from outside our village had come despite protests from our own monks, they had picked out women from our village. Women like Goodwife Riche, who had saved my mother’s life when my youngest brother came into the world feet first, were tried and uniformly killed. Despite the women of our village protesting , the men had lit the pyres, I still remembered my mothers cries ad Goodwife Riche burned. She stood before me whole and unharmed. The jagged crevice of fear inside my belly opened wider, I looked in wide eyed terror for an escape, from this place where the dead seemed to walk whole! Was Goodwife Riche a ghost, a vampire? The legends of the Beast must be true! I thought hard to vespers and the lord’s prayer, of which I remembered naught! Goodwife Riche looked at me, my heart stopped as she reached across the threshold to touch my face. She touched the curve of my face and exclaimed in her low voice: ‘Ava Lisabeth’s Daughter, I never thought I would see those grey eyes again.’ Goodwife Riche had been there at my birth, her blue eyes had been the first to see the silver grey of my pupils. Her hand was warm and her voice still stirred my memories, I allowed myself to be drawn over the threshold.

I reasoned that the fate of being shunned that awaited me in the village, could not be worst than the fate that awaited me in the castle. My father would surely shun me, if I came back and he had to return my bride price. No one would dare trade with me or help me plough, if I returned I would surely die. If I stayed, I was warm and though I would eventually die I would satisfy the one question that had been burning in my mind since I was in my 13th year. That day had been the first time the monks had allowed me in the Vespers. The library was filled with stories and I desperately wanted to read. Only my brothers knew their letters and numbers and then too only enough to trade and keep the records of births and deaths, reading was a luxury few men indulged in, and no women was allowed to read.
Widow Gwen who lived on the edge of our village had always been kind to me, often when I was fetching water, she would give me warm ginger bread, as I had grown up and after my mother passed, she had taught me fine sewing and cooking, and whilst I practiced she had read out aloud from large tomes she kept hidden in the floor of her cottage. The books had to be kept secret for it was a crime a women could be beaten for, but I loved her stories. The tale she loved to tell was of Nephilium, a race of angels who had loved man so much they had remained on earth, to teach them the ways of civilization. Certain Nephilium had even loved and married mortal women, producing children who safeguarded mortals and had the angelic wings of their fathers though not in golden white but inky black. Her stories made me forget that my father would not let me ride, or made me wear a veil on market day. She had taught me certain letters and with much help I could sound out words but I longed to look at the strange symbols and make tales. When Widow Gwen had told me of the library at Vespers, I had to see, walls of books! I had completed my chores early and whilst my brother s and father made the journey to market two nights away, I had used our oldest horse to ride Vespers. The monks were kindly though a little surprised, a bent old monk had brought me to the library. I had slid out the first book with a red leather binding, it was unwieldy but somehow I brought it to the table. The library was empty, so I began to sound out my letters to read the richly illuminated page.

The sound behind me had informed me that someone else was in the room. I had turned at once, afeared of finding a monk to throw me out or my father to drag me home, it had been the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. His eyes were luminous and golden, the planes of his place carved perfectly , my breathe caught in my throat. It was the time when I had first noticed boys, but none of the boys had the grace or dignity of the golden eyed boy. He had sat down beside me and helped me sound out the letters. In the weeks that followed each market day I had returned to Vespers and each week he had come, until one day whilst we were reading , a woman’s voice had sounded from outside the room. ‘Gabriel’ The boy had turned and left, and in the all the times I returned to Vespers, he had never returned. His seat empty next to me had worried me, had he been punished? All I knew was his name, and even as I became a young woman and my father had offers for my hand. The golden eyed boy had haunted my dreams. I imagined all a manner of fates, maybe the Beast of the Lair had captured and harmed the golden eyed boy. Maybe the golden eyed Gabriel was killed by the Beast! Now as I followed the Goodwife Riche into the Beast’s Lair, I could finally question my husband, The Beast, had he murdered the golden eyed boy?

Goodwife Riche chattered away as she led me up the Lair’s great curving staircases, she was as she had always been. I longed to ask her how she was alive, but I wondered whether this question would lead me to dungeon somewhere. The walls of the Lair were not the gloomy stoney crags the stories spoke of, they were finely painted and hung with all a manner of art. Torches lit all the sconces and the fires created warmth that quickly dissipated the goose bumps on my skin. In all the village there had never been rooms like these. The richness and comfort were overwhelming. The Beast was certainly wealthy, from the gold and jewels paid for my bride price and the finely armored knights that had escorted me to Vespers, I had guessed at his holdings but now in the light of his Lair, I now realized he had amassed far more coin than one man could in a lifetime. Surely this coin was ill gotten gain, no man through ploughing and trade would amass such wealth. I was now the mistress of a lot of coin of dubious origin. As I passed row upon row of armored portraits each with eyes that seemed to glow out the frame, my fear increased, Goodwife Riche finally opened the door to a room at the end of this long hall. She let me into a bright room and intoned mysteriously yet with a strange smile: ‘his lordship will be with you soon’. I expected to find myself inside a bedroom, the girls who had dressed me had told with giggles of the night, yet the thought of the Beast of the Lair ran my blood cold. I shut my eyes and prayed my hardest not to the male god of Vespers but to the old Goddess the women of my village prayed to. I prayed that this wedding night would not be the last night I took breathe. Anyways I comforted myself, if I died I have at least seen more in these few hours than the women of the village saw in a lifetime, I had read great works and brought wealth to my father.

As I opened my eyes I exclaimed in delight, instead of the shadowy bedroom of my imaginings I found myself in a library! A great bright room, filled from floor to ceiling with books of great variety. I was overwhelmed by the sheer luxury of these unread books waiting for me, even if the Beast was beastly, these books reassured me, for what evil would choose to spend so much time and coin on books! I heard the door of the library open and then shut with a soft snick. I turned at once. Before me his golden gaze in a finely planed face was Gabriel. He still was the most beautiful but he was now a man. A man the likes of which had never been seen in all of the world. I gazed at him in wonder,
‘ The silver eyed girl’
He smiled at me crossing the room in slow relaxed strides. As he came to a stop almost nose to nose with me.
‘The Golden eyed boy’
He smiled down at me, and I looked at him his skin seemed to glint with metallic glimmers, his black hair glowed with a life of its own. He was too beautiful to be real, I was at once elated and afeared, I drew back from him until my back hit the shelves. Surely the Beast was using magic to become the boy who had become the object of my musings for years. The smile melted into a rueful look as he began to unbutton his shirt, as his fingers unclasped his silver buttons, I felt a strange compulsion to reach over to him, yet I was strangely afraid, the human I was did not recognize him as one of us. As he drew his shirt from his shoulders, wings unfurled from his shoulder. I opened my mouth to speak but the word escaped on a breathe
‘Nephilium’


My entire body shook, Window Gwen’s stories were true, and before me was a real Nephillium. He gazed at me waiting for me to speak, yet I could not. Discovering someone you had thought of incessantly for 10 years was actually a mythical creature, had an impact the likes of which I cannot express in mere words. He gazed at me, the light in those golden eyes fading, he began to draw his shirt back on as he spoke:
‘You will be settled in the nearest town, with enough gold to live a wealthy life, the knights will escort you on the morrow’
He was sending me away? I did not want to leave the golden eyed boy when I had just found him.
‘You do not wish to escape the village, it was what the other women wished’
At once it dawned upon me, the Lord, the Beast had not married and disposed of many women, the women chosen had always been those at risk of beatings , those who could be possibly burned as witches. He had used his reputation and his wealth to rescue these women. I crossed the room at once.
‘I wish to escape the village, but I am married to you’
The dizzing smile returned.
‘I have waited a whole lifetime to marry you, Ava. Looked forever for the girl with silver eyes, and now I have found you. Even as my wings came in and I couldn’t return to Vespers, I never stopped searching for you.’
As he enveloped me in the double embrace of his arms and his wings, I felt the sense of comfort that Gabriel had always given me. At last together the golden eyed boy and the silver eyed girl, who had met in fairytales found each other in the hard world outside it’s pages.

A Love Letter...

In the circle of those fine made arms, crafted and soothed by divine fingers, watching the sinuous motion of your muscles I arrived home, to the place that saw to the very soul of me. The soft meeting place, where your neck flows into your shoulder which holds evidence of my secret tears, there lies the heart of the riddle that is me. Your face is an impossible dream, I have chased all my days.

In the low words you speak only to me, in whispered admissions and the sunshine of our laughter is the salvation of this jaded heart. You are the silent contemplation of a painting so fine made, my human eyes can not accept that such perfection stalks the blighted earth. Seeing the multitudes of beauties in you, brings me faith in a higher thing. The touch of calloused hands cupped in the curve of my face, just for the feel of my skin, infinitely more precious than all the gems in all the world. Reciting sonnets in the language of touch, brings me to tears, making me remember the thrill of first things. Making me pure. Enslave me with out games, no manipulations, the clean edges of your want breaking down my walls.

Engaged this razor mind, laying your heart open, talking truths to me, making my spirit name you its equal. Equal to me, unafraid and unbowed, you are the master here, and I give you dominion of this place, of me. That you see my deep six darkness and walk with me in the absence of light, makes my cynic mind acknowledge miracles. Among the masses you alone are anointed with the love undying, that would give my life to preserve yours.

You are my Knight, My Precious Thing, A Forever After and I am unafraid. I gamble it all, render down the treasure of this life for this one chance to walk your paths. Iam the salt of the tears you can not cry, I go with you whether you descend to hell or climb the stairways of heaven.

Unattainable legend, You are the love I deserve, My equal, Body, Mind and Spirit...Although like a legend, you exist inside the confines of my mind. The way I think Love should be, With out artifice, free of one up man ship, soul deep. Devastating and recreating...

why...

"My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But, ah, my foes, and, oh, my friends - it gives a lovely light."


The eternal quest for man has always been immortality... Everyone wishes to live forever. To be eternal and unchanging. Not a brief blink but a long unflinching gaze. The motivation behind it all is a deathly fear of being forgotten, for it to have been as if you never existed...
Mortal life is so transient that we seek every possible way, to leave a mark, something to remind the universe that brief and sputtering though it may have been, our lights shone. The secret to immortality does not lie in alchemy, occult practises or preserving your skin using chemicals...
True immortality lies in legacy, those we have loved, the lives we have touched, the joys we engineered!
The secret is not in length of life but in how it was lived.
Life is a secretive mistress and only the brave may glimpse her true face.
A life lived in fear is a life half lived...Love recklessly and often as if your heart has never known hurt, be that free joyful thing that confounds the world. Those who are afraid of life can never embrace life, fear of thing will never grow in to love from the thing...
There is light unknown in you, potentials, places... whole multiverses of the magnificence of you letting your light shine. While others toll in the dark, it is your light that lifts their gazes higher, that dares those on the cliff to fly...
You will then truly live forever seared on the consciousness of all you encounter, your legend will outlive your breathe...

I am

I am the hope my ancestors had as they left the green fields of home, the wings of the prayer that kept them afloat as they sailed the spice sea. I am the strength that never could bow, I am the power of those shoulders that made sand fruitful. I am the dignity of untouchables, I am the pride of royalty, the golden of their sub continental skin, the bite of chilli in their blood.

I am the deep dark place in the heart of all men, I am covert and secret. I am anger unleashed with murderous intent. I am the primal thing, killing before I am killed. I am the dark blessed shelter of night, in which all manner of deviancy is possible. I am unseen bone deep wrenching want which destroys the very object of its desire.

I am the light inside the dreams of children, the fragility of their innocence. I am innocence untouched, the naivety of untried wings. Iam the smooth brow of childhood, the guiless conversation. I am the preserver of all things, un-artifaced beauty.Iam like smooth music, once heard never forgotten. I am the unbridled crazy dancing under full moons. I am the Rhythm inside your hips when they hear a drum beat.

Iam the honesty of words that slip out, the truth of late nigh whispers. I am that first rush of attraction, racing like adrenalin. I am the joy of finding your mate, a mirror in the rocky world. I am that sensation of flying when you are actually falling in love. I am the blind optimism of a broken heart that grows dreams in its shady cracked places. I am the beatification of someday, even in the face of nothing.I am the unknown dreams curled beneath the hearts of those that love forgot

I am all, I am many. I am everyman and no man, I am woman.

Moon Light...

Gleaming bone pale in the dark night, the domes of the old tomb rose before him. Like a the steady torture of a waking dream, he hears her voice calling out to him from the echoing recesses of its marble confines. Before his blind eyes, the mists of imagination draw the face of the men he killed to protect the beauty before him. The once and lost king dreamt the blood of carnelians, the cool forest of malachite and dark traceries of obsidian, he saw the flow and flush of the ingrained riches in the ice marble walls, all that he had dreamt but had never seen. Through the bars of his high prison, his dimming eyes continued the vigil, every now and then his daughter would visit but even then he could not look away from the mausoleum. It was his pain, his only pleasure, each day when the muzzein sounded he prayed the same litany, that he be layed to rest by her side. Even in his wakeful sleep he dreamt the domes had cracked open or the fort been razed to the ground, he would wake with a start and make sure. The tomb stood there a silent testament to his power, his will and ultimately his love. Sometimes he thought he had fallen short, for wonderous white as it's walls of marble were, they, could not equal the golden glow of her skin, as detailed and amazing as was the tombs geometry, they could not equal the symmetry of her face, as rich and opulant as were the tombs finishings, they could not equal the lush curves of her body , the vivid colour of her mouth. The tomb he had long discovered was a silent thing, it could talk low words of poetry. Though they may call him and archetect of the ages, the building he built was cold comfort. Every second of his vigil, he felt her loss like a constant ache. Wonder though it was for all who came and saw, to him inside below the ground, lay the greatest treasure of this unimaginable place. He watched the tomb until that night he saw her again. In unimaginable light every inch gleaming and renewed, she came at last to bring her lord home. In the morning, his daughter came and said the mourning prayer. Her brother was of iron resolve but even he was moved and under the central dome next to his wmother, he lay the body of his father. And as the last muzzien sounded and prayers were said, the citizens turned as one to the tomb. Suspended in the marvel of white marble, they finally saw what the old king watched: love .

Fire Bird

Phoenix in charcoal with oil eyes

Ten Things About Me ...(you probably didnt want to know!)

1. I absolutely love comics...I collect X-Men, Thor and Spidey!!

2. I read ancient Greek, Latin, Hindi and Sanskrit.

3. I am obsessed with Mythology and faerytale...

4. I actually do believe in happy endings...ssh dont tell anyone

5. Deeply spiritual, love learning about all religions, particularly hinduism, reading the Vedas, Ramayana and Mahabhratha...will change how you feel about hinduism...

6. I love food... reading about it, eating it, making it...

7. Hello my name is Atelisha and I am a writer of purple prose...Sorry i overwrite but i will not stop!

8. I am not not not a lesbian!!

9. I have 9 tattoos

10. I am actually who you see, Whats on the box is inside the box!

There be Monsters

Shimmering light flooded the vale as the knights crested the ridge of Fire Mountain.
Dawn had come at last to this cursed valley, where peasants cowered in fear of the mighty Shadow Wing. Deep in the shadows of Fire Mountain, the princess of the Fire Plain rose and the slow whine of sword sharpening filled the air.

Sent by her father as a last sacrifiace to the Dragon Shadow Wing, Princess Aurora detested the plains kingdom. She hated her that her father would give up his daughter before his crown. She hated her sisters who had planted that idea in his ear. She hated the knights who never raised a sword when she was snatched away. She hated the people who danced in glee thinking they were finally free. Yes Princess Aurora was a darkling thing, half elven like her mother, she had been allowed to run free and so she was fearless, even in the hidden places of Fire Mountain, she stalked like a cold shadow. She watched the knights progress into the vale and smiled grimly, between them at long last the surrendered crown of the plains king.


The Knights as they bore the crown kept their eyes to the ground, for who alive wants to see death on wing swooping down like lightening loosed. Their eyes ran from the sulphurous fumes and upon their ears fell strange keening of beasts they coudnt discern. Even the brightest felt the resolve shake as they arrived at the dragons keep. Setting the crown upon the stone, they prepared to wait, the supersticious began began prayers to the gods that death would be sift and the dragon merciful.


Aurora sat upon the highest ridge and watched the knights hudled like sheep. The fear rolled of them like a palpable wave and she knew the dragon could scent these things. Then from across the mountain range came the sound of massive wings, Aurora felt her heat quicken and on the horizon appeared the Dragon. Shadow Wing was a mighty thing, with scales like elven steel, his wings dark beating the air with massive strokes. From darkest grey to lightestest silver, he was as if of shadow spun. The hardest steel, the surest arrow could not harm his enchanted hide, for Shadow wing was magick, a mage among dragons. He had more power in a single gesture than humans could fathom in a lifetime of searching. He knew of ancient things, begining things and secrets at the heart of life itself, its force, it purpose and its fire. As he landed before the knights, two expired just like that, no force of claw or flame.

Aurora watched and notched her arrows and carefully took aim, she was determined He would die He who brought her pain. She watched as Shadow Wing took the knights one by one snuffing their souls like guttering sparks, in the last second she drew back her arm and loosed her single arrow. With a meaty thump, it hit home and a death keen filled the air.

Aurora picked her way through the dead littering the valley, triumph singing in her veins. she danced a jig amongst the dead and watlzed over their cold hands, they would never asked her to dance freezing her out of court. She skipped and giggled amid the mess, singing courting songs until a thunderous rumble stopped her dead and she turned to find the dragon. Shadow Wing seldom laughed but now he couldnt stop. A princess who despised knights and fell in love with a dragon! Who would have even known...

Aurora picked up the gore spattered crown and placed it on her head. She ran her hands down her claws like she knew he liked, she dropped her armour among the stones and he delighted in her fine skin, surely a fire soul she was, the princess who dared love a dragon. Shadow Wing swept her up to her castle in the villlage, installed her on the throne, magnificent and fiery with rubies in her hair. Who would oppose her, no one would dare.

And now all the people when entering Fire Plain, look upon the castle, 'keep your gaze down' they warn children passing in the yard. ' There be monsters' And they do not mean the dragon whose fire fills the air. The monster is the princess for who would even dare to love a scaly beast and enslave him without chains, surely their new queen was a monster wonderous and fair. Yes, warned the elders there be monsters there.

She is thick
Lush expanses of scented soft curves for touch
Exploding across your tongue
First taste last ecstasy
Thick
The mazes of her razor mind encircle
Ensorcel, deeper still
Clap trap shut
She is thick
Honeyed lust
Your fingers slick
With tears of your discovery
Thick
With life
You drink it up
And still live in drought
She is thick
Deep six darkness
Thick
Golden divine sight
She is thick
Unctuous sumptuous
Spread open
Like a banquet
Thick
And you tear apart
Trying to reach her heart
She is thick
Layers over layers
Prayers over prayers
She is thick
Like roils of incensed smoke
Intoxicating
Emancipating
Thick
That you break yourself
And she touch your soul
She is thick
Remake yourself
And be whole
Thick
With the world
She is thick
So thick
Yearn to learn her trick
Love her
Like fire to wick
Love only leave you
Thick

faery tale

They say its nigh impossible…

Those that know for who would love the boy king, for his heart when in castle were gold and furs and men and women to cater to his every whim. They came from far and wide, the elven maids and the human too, all hungry for their share all wanting glory , seeing themselves in crowns, wanting to ride beside him and call his kingdom theirs. And he was hungry for something he did not know and in maiden after maiden he couldn’t find that glow. They came and went and time was spent at sport and fun but hours should have been spent in being a king.

Until she came
She came from a land of warriors pure, never without her sword and traced with s scars both young and old. She didn’t come for furs; she did not come for gold she did not want to share his crown. She came for him and the bards can never tell how the warrior in love fell. But she did not say nary a word, she came cloaked in shadow of night, gifted him her body and left with the light. They spoke of many things both shadow and light and she saw in him potential for flight. He took her gift and thought it flesh but she held hope their souls would mesh. And so it was that he took her for mere, she knew in heart that deepest fear. She wanted to gift him her heart, find out his dreams and make his fear depart. She would forsake the kingdom and fight by his side, thread his paths and with him abide. But in the dark he did not see, he was entranced by maidens whose beauties he could see. And at time he would forget and fall in with the maidens set. She would pine and vacillate between tears and anger and practice with swords till her scars so fine bled anew and she was once again ruled by pain, the only freedom she knew.
Then one autumn the moon rose whole, amber and luminescent touching the soul. She came to his chamber, as she did and there in the darkness by the curtains hid. Was her chosen and only, her lover and her friend
And his arms and under his light was another body bent. She was covered in gold of royal make and in her voice innocence and sweetness was fake. Alight with worldly desire, even as he loved her she did not come afire. She who came in the night, left him tears more brilliant than the jewels wrapped around the princesses hand. She could not fathom not rising to match his stroke or to have eyes only for gold. She fled into the night and though of her folly with bright hard hate. As the forest opened before her, she disappeared from human sight and in the tower watching with sconces bright only a young knight took note of this hasty flight.

Morning came slowly to this place and the boy king woke to the face. in the slow light of mornings grace, she did not run her fingers over his skin or see him like a fine made thing. She was entranced by her ornaments and engaged in rubbing them like firmament. He rose from her bed and did not believe his own head. Was she a queen, a lover and friend, a joy that would have no end?

She was none of these and he found himself longing for low words and wise things. He awayed to the window, mayhap that was her sword singing. But alas it was the soldiers in formation preparing to protect his nation. He ignored the false implorations and began a lengthy search to all the places they covered in night time explorations.

In the garden where the harvest moon gazed with envy as he unveiled her skin and made her ache to let him in. On the shore of the murmuring sea where she whispered great secrets she had learned and showed him the wisdom she earned. In her quarters covered by ivy, her scent thick on the air and remembered the unbidden promises she made him there. He found the riches she had left there and he remembered putting that crown in her hair. How she spurned this treasure and told him that this fire between them was beyond the measure of any pleasure gold could give. He remembered her eyes dark with unsaid words and cursed himself as he had never heard. He called every member of the night guard, and ceaselessly questioned their sight. Then the young knight was before the king and he told how she had disappeared into nothing.
He wept sorrowful tears but it was too late and reality was as he feared. His friend, his lover, his chosen queen was nowhere that could be seen. He called sorcerers and magick makers, promised them anything they would take. But they too were sorry and aimed to look but it was if death his love had took. He governed the kingdom without a foil and through the years with much toil, he never stopped believing that she would return, her paths she would spur n to be his once again.

But the bards they tell a saddened tale, he passed alone and his quest to find her did fail. They say she had joined the darkling hunt and rode with Odin ceaselessly warring. That she was a Valkry who be free when Ragnarok would rise again. Others they tell a sweeter tale of how after many years travail, she returned with Odin over that vale. And Odin wily one eye lord, sent her to the home her heart sought. And she and the boy king ruled for many a year and rose with Ragnarok, immortal and without fear. They say their love was a mighty thing and that bowed many a king and inspired many bards to write in yards.

What is truth and what be tale only the warrior or the king may avail. For here lies the heart of my cant.
See with eyes of your soul to find the one who will make life whole. Bewitching as are things of the world, love is of souls or so I have heard. Favor of gods and wealth beyond measure, pale before love, the truest treasure.