With no rest for the wicked, for the sinister, the avaricious incarnation settled into nefarious reveries, doused and lacquered the springtime rain into his eldritch heart; finessed and courted until the last fibers of it were wanton, yearning pinnacles, longing tendrils. A controlled burn, building and brewing as he walked, cloaked and choked, smothering silence, ravaging and pillaging as the vestiges of showers soaked his calculating air. Damned manifestation, he wafted through the plumes of droplets, belonging to their sultry grace, their tangible, sweet nothings, because of what they offered, what they reflected, what they churned into amongst the carnivorous fringe of his deliberate machinations. Through the walls of his undulating muscles, through the lengthy, limber strides, she’d cast an earnest contemplation through his livelihood, and her element strove to meet his satanic maelstroms, ease them into their quiet, contorted infernos. Swallowed and consumed by the cascade, he was a man of hushed proclamations, scathing strokes, sultry sedition, devouring her traces, following the touch, the taste, of her delicate void. Vehemence and callousness, heartless hollows and hallowed entities, pressed close to the cool caresses of the feral showers, a malicious form immersed into the embrace of clinging beneficence, all her creeds, all her promises, all her serenities piercing the vicious slate of his rancorous statue. They led him down the road to ruin, and he lapped, savored, relished at their fineness, at their ability, to woo him into the threads of craving, pining, desire. Amidst the smoky absences, the strangling, strange disappearances, and the return of crowns, of kingdoms, he merely wanted to see her, to touch her, to ensure, secure, clinch, and then, rapaciously possess, seize, plunder, and claim all over again; the only goddess who’d managed to bewitch, beguile, and allure death. He cast stones and trailed after her heartlines, Huyana, the earth whispered beneath his dominating footfalls, undone and divine, arcane and calculating, webbed into the ancient pathways and mottled floors, beneath the marble columns and upon the circular slab; temples eager and waiting to be desecrated from the heat of his malice and menace. Against the kaleidoscope hues, he blended into shadow, into darkness, into Stygian hymns and vulture rhythms, became another effigy, sculpture, still in the sanctuary – and awaited her blessings, rosaries, and pitfalls.


@[Huyana]

i'm not here looking for absolution,

because I found myself an old solution

Could she ever be anything more than a desolate north wind, doomed to scavenge the earth for some pinprick of purpose, another reason to cling onto this damned place? Cloven hooves trailed through springtime mire, pulled onward almost unwillingly, as if burdened by some great weight. Spring bloomed gloriously around her sleek, sterling form, sprawling across meadows and through forests like some great green purge, sullying the death and destruction and darkness from the landscape, leaving no vestige of its filth on the newborn leaves; but Huyana felt an unease settle onto her soul, a cancerous thing which grew more and more each day. She felt it in the pit of her stomach, in the marrow of her bones. Was she frivolous for for shirking her position? Was it disgraceful and irrational for abandoning such a respectful occupation for some gut instinct? She bowed her crown—no; it would have been more contemptible if she had remained in a post that she did not love, consulting a god she did not believe in; age did not mean complacency.

Through a grove of pine she entered a breathtakingly beautiful glade—clean spring sunlight gleamed off colored glass supported by snow-white pillars. Curtains shifted gently in the breeze, and from behind the linen she espied a familiar form looming under that kaleidoscope sky. Restraining herself under a cool facade, she had to map each step to avoid running toward her statuesque lover. Almost like the marble icon of some forgotten god he seemed, a mirage glimmering beneath a tantalizing veil. Desire, a long forgotten sensation, was aroused in the pit of her stomach as she drifted over the pale steps, pervading between the white sheets. There he was, brooding image of death; shards of sapphire in place of eyes, body made of black marble, both soft and hard, rigid and fluid. As if in a dream, she strayed toward him, unable to express anything more than the basest instinct, the most carnal of reactions. She was not thinking rationally—but then again, Huyana had enough rational thinking for a lifetime. So, with nothing more than her lips dragged across his skin, that careworn nymph fell into the arms of her Hades.
""

& it's peaceful in the deep,

cathedral where you cannot breathe

She came to him, body electric, sizzling, pervading. His Maria, Persephone, floated from the wafting, waiting palms, like beckoning alms, piercing sirens, and he grappled over the rocks to savor her warm, ample cascades. Riveted, fixated, hungry, and wanton, he craved the infidel taste, the smooth conjecture of her peace, her tranquility, her serenity, fell over the puddles and remnants, drowned into the dissolution of her desires. Through silence, through hushed motions and movements, he endeavored another rumination, another exploration, of her body, pressed his amulet forged in death towards her brow, a feral kiss along her sword, a haunting, scorching caress pricked down the blades of her shoulder. Yearning finessed into undone passions, desecrating temple creeds and faith through the pricking of his carnal, corporeal urgency, a flame, an inferno, a tempest ignited by her breath, by her hopes and wishes, by the peace she possessed and the declarations he seized. Beneath the bright hues and menagerie of color, he stole, reaped, sowed, absconded the worthy riches of her deeds, unholy and meticulous, sultry and sensual, bowing to naught and no one but her. Seductive hymns contorted over anarchical splendor, eldritch incantations, trapped and entranced, allured and finessed into the art of craving, the specters and wraiths of lust, thirst, aspirations and greed tumbling into the avaricious coils of his sinister touches, his ghostly strokes, his deadly brushstrokes, his machinated pledges. Across the planes of her neck, delving along her throat, mouth of sin stripped her plumes, her virtues; her skin was all his, dominated, influenced, and consumed. Entrenched and beguiled, spellbound and desecrated, he devoured each ambrosial part of her heart, of her body, of her soul, bore his salacious, sinister entity into hers. Subservient to her whims, her fancies, her rain, he met the satin essence of her hide and whispered devastating nothings into its silken terrain; murmured undying devotion, unholy deliberations, pulsed menacing, malicious hymns, selfishly mapped every region as his until they were both soused, seduced.

i'm not here looking for absolution,

because I found myself an old solution