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Morrigan
An excerpt from Charnel House (ONA)
A black lily opens dropping its
blood into the Fools mouth. He wakes in
a dark, red room. For a while the room
seems bare, a single window reveals a
purple sky. The room begins to move,
silent, dense, turgid, each gap filling
thickly. The red shifts: an intimation of
a crucified man. He writhes in front of
the window, the heavy warmth of the room now allowing him to ooze freely, the dark slides, almost mockingly, over his dewed
nakedness; feminine breath and hands.
There is a woman in black - her white
face dose not reflect the red. She places
a blade with in a chalice; the crown of
thorns have fallen from the head of the
Opfer, and a small white flowers grow from the tips, tendril across the floor in all
directions. The Fool is aroused by the
faint scent of oak and musk; this is taken
in and possesses each with a swift
violence, metal squealing tight.....
Suffering is split; in its side the
woman slips the blade and widens the eye.
The shadows of animals in flight stain the walls - in frenzy she stimulates the flow
of blood with her tongue. Clouds, heavy
with victims, circle the room; with each
blow of the knife a black liquid steaks
the walls and glass.
She wakes as her first blood drops
from the gold....
Morrigan, send you something a bit less strange next time!
XXX
An excerpt from Charnel House (ONA)
A black lily opens dropping its
blood into the Fools mouth. He wakes in
a dark, red room. For a while the room
seems bare, a single window reveals a
purple sky. The room begins to move,
silent, dense, turgid, each gap filling
thickly. The red shifts: an intimation of
a crucified man. He writhes in front of
the window, the heavy warmth of the room now allowing him to ooze freely, the dark slides, almost mockingly, over his dewed
nakedness; feminine breath and hands.
There is a woman in black - her white
face dose not reflect the red. She places
a blade with in a chalice; the crown of
thorns have fallen from the head of the
Opfer, and a small white flowers grow from the tips, tendril across the floor in all
directions. The Fool is aroused by the
faint scent of oak and musk; this is taken
in and possesses each with a swift
violence, metal squealing tight.....
Suffering is split; in its side the
woman slips the blade and widens the eye.
The shadows of animals in flight stain the walls - in frenzy she stimulates the flow
of blood with her tongue. Clouds, heavy
with victims, circle the room; with each
blow of the knife a black liquid steaks
the walls and glass.
She wakes as her first blood drops
from the gold....
Morrigan, send you something a bit less strange next time!
XXX
