The House Of Blood and Dust, Book One: Darkness Rising

Mutilation Of The Traitor

Off in the distance a baby weeps because their mother is a shameful whore, who has left the child outside whilst she fucks her way to her next fix and in another corner of this much fabled land a man sobs over his lost love whom has been killed, or she left him, I don’t know; he’s ridiculed because of his sensitivity and sits alone because that is all he can do, all he wants to do, perhaps he cries because he misses her. Does everyone feel this alone staring at the rain in the middle of the night drinking a beer in a conservatory? I look at the stars and take a sip of the beer; the stars align in their constellations and the moon sits alone in her sky without the sun to keep her happy. I finish the bottle and put it next to the others; I stand and go to the fridge.

          “Ever since I’ve been here this fridge seems to have an unlimited supply of beer.” I laugh to myself and grab another bottle then return back to my spot to observe the night sky,

          “You’ve been busy… drinking yourself numb?” I don’t turn to her; I just stare at the lunar beauty,

          “I guess so.” I mutter taking a drink, knowing that she is silently judging me. She comes to me and sits by me on the sofa,

          “This is the third night I’ve found you here, is something troubling you?” I take another drink and rest my hand on her thigh,

          “Aye, I have the uncontrollable feeling of loneliness, trapped in my own mind… I feel useless, that I cannot protect you.” She moves to me and wraps her arms around me,

          “You’re not alone, you have me… you have Brunhilda and you have Alexander… you’ve protected me quite well so far, do not keep worry yourself the world keeps turning whilst you sleep, so come on.” Circe kisses my neck and turn my head to land one on her lips,

          “I once read a story about the sun’s obsession with the moon, like he was already married but she was forbidden and Hyperion liked his forbidden fruit… I retold it to my brother, he wasn’t as happy about it as I was, he doesn’t appreciate the beauty that is literature.” The pretty little thing smiles at me, unfathomable amounts of love held within her prepossessing brown eyes “Well it was a poem which told the story.” I think about it again, trying to remember the poem,

          “Do tell… and I’m sure she was forbidden being his daughter.” I kiss her again and I wrap my arm around her waist.

          “Well, in some stories she was… this she was born of someone else, the voice of the damned.” I look back into the sky and take a deep breath.

         

          “Thy eyes melt my soul,

Journey into a blooded mind,

The thing that’s left to design,

Let the pale goddess be mine.

 

Thou art the noblest of creatures,

Pretty little thing,

Darkness surrounds thee,

Take the throne from me

Or sit on my knee.

 

In the eyes of the goddess

Is a blessing, a plain sighted hatred,

Normalities and seeking guidance