Genre: Gothic
Archetypes: The Christ Figure | The Rake
Theme: Discovery
* * *
It was the fire, perhaps.
Or something else that I have seen in those deep-set eyes of yours.
Like your mansion that's what your eyes are: dark, cold, and bereft of life. And just like the immense labyrinth of stone and iron that you call your home, there were times when the fireplace was lit and it felt like home.
You are a monster. But that did not stop me from giving my heart to you.
Today is the day of Odin; and today is the executioner's workday.
It seems as if all of the Earth has come to watch the spectacle. Peasants, noblemen, thieves, honest men, sinners, and clergymen, stand hither and tither to see the death of the creature that they ogled with fear and disgust for they all believe that it was wretched and vile.
Only I know better.
The crows descend from the gray skies like emissaries of The Grim, and land on the spires of a nearby manor.
The bell of the cathedral tolls.
I close my eyes and think of you.
I was a mere servant; one of the few women who kept the soot from settling your mansion's gloom. You were but another lord that I had to obey. In all of the lifetimes that I may go through, I never would have surmised that you will notice me.
It was a summer's night, when you dragged me into your bedroom. I never had the chance to clean it, so when my eyes grazed the insides of your gargantuan room, I could only think of how it suited you. It was rich in red, and the walls were lined with books and prize heads. It was handsome, proud, and enticing. You whispered softly in my ears... Promises and comforting lies and wonders and desires. Because I was young and weak, I let your luster blind me; like an unknowing prey, I dropped my defenses and let your pale, cold hands consume me.
And then you bit me.
It was a moment of pain and pleasure.
I became your lover; one of the few women whom you sleep with. I lived by my folly, thinking I was the only one, and I died with it, when I have learned about. You told me that you had to feed; that what I had will not satisfy all of your needs. But you also said that you loved me, and thast you would do so for eternity even when I but ashes. For I was a fool, nay, am a fool, I believed you.
It was a winter's day, when I found a hidden door that led from a trap door inside your bedroom. I had never seen it before; and like a curious rat – torch in hand – I let the dark bowels of the secret room swallow me. It was rich in red, and the walls were lined with blood and human heads. It was gruesome, horrid, and disquieting. You approached me from the rear, with breath that reeked of death and decay, then begged for my forgiveness. Because I am in love and helpless, I let your monster bind me; like a cornered prey, I cowered and wept and let your pale, cold heart imprison me.
And then you kissed me.
It was a moment of confusion and clarity.
I knew that you loved me, or at least, a little part of you did. Like your enormous mansion, only the hearth was warm and alive.
But why should I grouse? With my own eyes, I have witnessed how you stalked the night. I have seen what you can do to virgins and married women, how you tricked them into going inside your doors and into their deaths. All you had to do was tell them the same things that you have told me.
But I knew that I was different and so were the others, for you have spared our lives.
I asked you why.
You said because this world was cold and dark.
And you needed someone to give you warmth and light.
The pyre at the square is red and bright, its heat is melting the yesterday's snow inside an impressive berth. I can hear the people screaming – cursing the devil and the demons.
Mocking me.
Today is the day that I burn at the pyre as a punishment by The Inquisition for murdering the town's womenfolk and using them as sacrifices for my witchcraft practices.
Like a servant, and a lover, I humbly offer my life to save yours.
I felt the flame gorge on my flesh as I stared blankly at the crowd. I thought I saw your pale form amongst them, but it could merely be an illusion, for I cannot clearly see.
It was the fire, perhaps.
