THE VOICELESS

THE VOICELESS

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Tue, Apr 27, 2021
mistreated, abused, tortured, that's her life. a life she didn't wish for this. She was abused by the twins the girl would slap her or kick her because she envy the young silvered hair lady's beauty and the young man would do something more than punching... Until one certain day came. An old woman ask for help at that time she was doing the garden. She stop her doing and help the old lady, she gave her a slice of bread and water to eat. The old lady was mesmerize by the young lady's kindness and beauty she gave something to the young lady. "A token of gratitude my lady. A potion came from Verona from the place where Romeo and Juliet lives and a white dress from the land of sleeping beauty. Use this and you will be free from the burden you wish not to have. You must clean yourself and wear this dress and you can proceed on drinking the small potion. Once again I thank you for your kindness. Good bye for now lady Angelique Serenity Springwaltz III." The lady was taken a back she didn't expect the old lady know her name. But before she could ask the old lady a sudden gush of a wind came her hair covered her face unable to see the old lady. After that wind stop the old lady vanish like a bubble. That night she followed the old lady's instructions as she wear the the white dress fully, she took the the vile and drink it. Her breathing was starting to grow slow, her blood starts to stop pumping.. She was dying... Temporarily....
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#132
sebastian
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The ancient and tragic journey of the vampire Vittoria de Luca Bonenfant as she so vividly recalls. The struggles of an immortality she deems to be forsaken by God. A Christian who is loath to see her faith wain. A vampire with the profound inability to take mortal life and allow the warmth of human blood to make florid her pallor skin so that she might not be, in her view, this grotesque and perfect vision of conscious death. A vampire at a loss as she wanders the grey twilight- » » With you I leave my confessions, as in those wretched wooden rooms. Do with it as you like; tell it to your one, or to many, or burn it with my rosary, which I surely have blasphemed. How long ago the mortal soul in me was lost, I do not know. How long ago since I said, "Take me," with such hatred in my eyes. "Take me now from this cruelty!" But non, He would not. I know He has left me, my God, my Savior, my Abandoner, turned His crystalline gaze from my ruin. But with nervous hands and nervous breath did I pray to Him still, my breast cracked asunder as I strained to hear Him. But lo, that I heard the cold laughter of the Morning Star, and was blinded by the Son of Dawn. I said the words, "I will not go with you, Devil," and the Devil, who became the serpent of my rosary, and like a strange stigmata, bit my praying palm, pressed my fingerstips to his pallid lids, as though he felt a pull at his heart like so many strings. I loath him and do unto him cruel things. I like to do it. Because it is I, alas, who had become the Devil in the end, a savage Devil with sweet, ruddy tears at the rending of mortal flesh. Now, I daresay, no earthly living thing binds me to gracious mortal empathy, that mortal beating heart in its miserable rhythm. I have not eyes for their mourning visage, nor ears for their desperate cries. No heart for them. No heart. No heart that He may never forgive. #1 Poetic Prose #1 Musing photo credit: Laura Makabresku

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