Crimson Kisses

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Image: Pixabay

His journal is heavy with longing and pain:

Crimson kisses and scorched souls, these are her legacy. A voluptuous beauty glimpsed between doorways, inflaming the soul with unholy fire. How it pains me that she will always remain unattainable and devoid of feeling. She searches for meaning amongst the living; alas they offer only empty words and ashen faces. Her scent pervades my every moment, redolent of passion and old roses. I beg just one kiss from her beauteous lips, just one! Blood red and full are they, whispering empty sentiments. I yearn to bury my face in the dark waterfall that is her hair. Psyche my love.

Even after centuries it evokes such terrible emotions. The burdens of his line were forced upon her and so it was that he condemned both of them to near annihilation. Oh what crimes the lovelorn and vengeful perpetrate in this world! She is near and he will be shadowing her footsteps. The darkness pervades his very being; hatred brings with it such terrible repercussions. It warps and twists the fabric of the material and astral planes, imperilling the immortal soul. Our work is never-ending and has been since the Fall. We grieve for the children of the One; their pain becomes our pain until the time of healing and release.

She approaches, sad-eyed and out for blood. He has turned her heart into cinders, what manner of vengeance has she meted upon he? My brethren and I stand prepared for the oncoming battle. Our dark wings enfold the worlds in readiness.

‘Dear, dear Psyche, fear not, we shall not abandon you. It is time to go home.’

The shadow has sunk its tendrils into her, sinking deeper as she struggles to escape. We breathe in her pain and offer her salvation and release. The battle ensues, vicious and spiteful is the tormentor. Our patience is not endless and his end is quick. Her paramour is enveloped in silver-violet fire, cleansed and sanctified. He is finally released into the care of those of our kind engaged in healing of a type, of a type we do not speak of openly. It is done. Both he and she are free and their screams of relief are deep and visceral. I envelop Psyche in wings of midnight and indigo and sing a song of remembrance, of happier times as she sleeps. The journal is thrown into the flames of dissolution, vanquished finally. The purity of Love is regained, for now.

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Image: Pixabay

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