A Bouquet of Blood & Roses
5 parts Ongoing MatureHe was madness woven into flesh, a tempest crowned in iron laughter, sovereign of cruelty whose joy was measured in blood and broken cries. He walked the earth as if damned by the stars, a shadowed hymn of violence that no scripture dared recite.
Yet the moment his gaze fell upon her, the storm faltered. She stood not as mortal, but as divinity veiled in humility - a goddess clothed in fragile skin, her radiance so pure that kings would squander their kingdoms to mirror but a fragment of her grace. She was flame and water, salvation and abyss, the silence of peace and the thunder of ruin.
To him, she was the living altar. And he, though devil-born, bent in worship. Every sin within him was transfigured into reverence, every breath pledged as devotion. In her he found his sanity; in her he was undone.
But divinity walks perilous paths. She was the lamb wandering the wilderness, and he the wolf cloaked in shadows, a lone hunter whose hunger was not of the flesh but of the soul. His obsession blurred the sacred lines - love and possession, lust and desire-until all became one consuming fire.
Thus began the myth of the madman and his goddess: a tale where devotion is both chain and freedom, where madness becomes worship, and where the end and the beginning share the same name.