The Taste Of Divinity

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U N D E R W O R L D

"Lips stained red stretch into a devious smile as they descend on skin so warm it makes them burn.

After the first kiss, a pair of eyes full of hunger and need turn gold and black, forsaking the emerald green that usually has the pleasure of gracing their irises.

She steals the onyx from him, just as she steals his wretched thoughts.

Then, dainty hands tug long, ebony strands of hair while hips buckle wildly against each other.

Madness collides with softness.

Sharp nails dig into scarred flesh, drawing precious liquid gold and paint pictures of destruction with it.

And yet, it feels like the gentlest caress, like the touch of a flower.

Around the indistinguishable forms, Chaos. The winds howl, play, destroy. They sing her name and scream it when sighs slither out of her. Their cries reach the soil. It, too, recognises the power and obeys to the unspoken command. The flowers tremble and bloom when the first moans leave the dripping red lips. They open their petals wide and steal her breath as the one causing this disturbance steals what little innocence she has left. . ."

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Hades sighed heavily as he woke, onyx eyes opening without truly meaning to, fragments of the dream sticking to his eyelids.

Disoriented and under the influence of the images painted by his subconscious, he placed a hand to his chest, in an effort to calm his pounding heart, keeping it there until he felt it fall under his control once more.

For hours after that, Aidoneus didn't dare close his eyes. He tossed and turned in his bed, throwing away the covers to relieve his body of the thin layer of sweat that had formed on his skin. The comfort he received was slight and not at all effective.

He still imagined what her touch would feel like.

He wondered if her hands would be soft as the figure's from his dreams was and her nails sharp enough to pierce his skin.

He wondered If her cheeks would flame when he brushed his jewelled knuckles over them.

He wondered if the flame would travel lower.

Much lower.

He wondered if flowers bloomed with her every hushed breath.

With each question his fingers itched a tad more, nails digging into the flokati in a futile attempt to stop the burning sensation from taking over him completely.

Oh, the never ending agony.

He shuddered and moaned, the painful sounds reaching the colourfully painted faces of the anaglyphs decorating his bedroom walls. They seemed to respond to his cries, small pieces of marble cracking and falling onto the floor.

The earth groaned with him, shaking and cursing in a language not even the Gods recognised. It mourned alongside him for his lack of hope and dreary thoughts, as it did night after night.