Upon These Still Waters

In wooded glen of spectral silence, there exists an isolated lake. Upon these still waters, moonlight gleams on cloudless nights and does things that moonlight surely oughtn’t do. We submit on this particular night, the coalescence of silver light into feminine, corporeal form.

Here she exists in sartorial splendor, wreathed in cold light. She of luminescent beauty, known in a previous life perhaps, as Lady Nimueon. Pristine save for gobbets of flesh and wet red that dot her person; evidence of new beginnings and a cycle refreshed.

She clutches a dagger of arcane design, fit for those who would be deemed worthy. Yet to this day, none have answered the call and so she she drifts from glen to shore on this night. With none to halt her procession, she sinks forlorn on formless feet into the still waters of this strange lake. She releases the dagger from her grip; allows it to sink into the aetheric abyss of the waters.

The world holds its breath, silent and still to witness what may next occur on this cold night. Something stirs in the hearts of man, beast and most importantly, beneath the surface of the lake. The lady, she known formerly as Nimueon, gasps and her silver skirts unfurl upon the the rolling waves with warm anticipation. He emerges gently and easily, the dark water cascading off his form. He, known formerly as Zaren, burbles with glee for he knows his wait is over. He of look reminiscent of corrupted fishing hamlets and grand old cities of the deep. He of squamous scabs and scales, unfurling gills and dexteric fins that might draw pleasure and pain equally depending on the occasion.

This night, this still night, is an occasion of rebirth and as such requires pain and bloodshed as much in this world often does. He grips the silver lady with webbed hands that smell divine and blasphemous all at once. She gasps once more, gazing at the narrow, icthyic face blinking wetly back. She takes a deep breath as the hands grasp her bosom and she plunges beneath the water to begin the process. Gentle caresses of the most benign and sensual begins to shift swiftly. Flesh explored, caressed and then scoured, sloughed red into the black where the silver cannot glow.

She does not cry for she knows of this process. She accepts her scaled lover’s fierce, brutal embrace with a sense of complacency as teeth and fins begin to ravage. It is a cycle that shall complete time and time again until she can surrender her blade of light to one other than the Tartaran depths where she is currently ravaged. Upon acceptance, the eventual blade wielder will plunge it into the breast of her beastly lover and the cycle will cease. But not tonight, on this silent and formerly gentle night, the one from beneath these still waters completes his violent deed and slinks away into the depths until she wades once more.

For now, remnants ether bright float in liquid darkness, blighted by visceral chunks of blood and matter. To the surface the remains of the Lady return, cast gently upon the returning calm. It is here, on the glassy surface that the cycle will enter its next step. Biological matter dissipates and assimilates, becoming one, indistinguishable with the water where Lady Nimueon and lover Zaren once embraced.

Thirst for renewal.

Thirst for life.

Thirst is thirst is compulsion.

So too do other beings venture to this strange lake in the quiet wooded glen. Creatures hoofed, pawed, feathered and scaled, creatures of man’s world all seek the thirst. Quench it and drink deep O beasts that slither, walk and fly. One amongst you shall accept the lady’s gift, her essence.

Her very being.

Chthonic biochemistry percolates and boils from within as those that supped will soon deliver, no matter what species they may be. Here, we present a hoofed brethren, the mighty moose of the northern frontier, sporting antlers majestic and domineering, fresh from conquest. The beast drinks from the lake and lies still amidst the quiet wild. Yet within, she is reborn and reformed, collecting the vitality she need from withing the animal. From the microcosm the Lady returns refreshed, clad in viscera and sheathed in muted grey.

Her sacred blade has returned to her. It flashes forth in the interior murk and birth is rendered in violence as it often is in this world. The Lady emerges as the mighty beast has completed its honorable sacrifice. She cleanses herself of her embryonic rebirth and kneels gently in the cold. She embraces the remnants of the beast and whispers a quiet word of gratitude, unheard by all but those who speak her special tongue. The trees, the hills, the waters and the animals of the world understand her and comprehend.

Lady Nimueon smiles sadly for she knows what awaits. She reaches upward and feels her new form. She is the Lady, she is feminine and grace. Yet from each birth she assumes that of which delivered her into this world. So, on this quiet night, she is proud to be adorned with the mighty antlers of conquest, gifted by her bestial birthgiver. She looks up and clasps the moon in the cup formed by her new protuberance. She spreads her arms wide and bathes in the light of Lady Luna, as the cold moonlight imbibes her in that which she craves. The Lady in grey becomes the Lady of silver and luminescence once more.

She turns with shining eyes, a form of lady-like grace framed by the male, animalistic crown of the fertile season. The Lady holds and clasps her sacred, moonlit dagger and gazes back at the lake. She knows he waits there for her, but surely he is tiring of this cycle as much as she is.

She wants nothing more than to be intercepted on her constant trek to the waters, to be freed from her shackles. Not just her, but for Zaren as well. They both deserve freedom from this menial, arcane task beset upon them by forces unknown. Yet it does not seem to be on this night.

And so, the Lady ventures forth once more. Walking light in the cold twilight approaching this strange lake within this isolated glen.

She stops at the shore. She sighs and looks to the waters. She sees the ripples of her awaiting lover and she can hear him sigh as well. They have their ways in this world however, and for now they must complete it once more. Awaiting the day when one accepts the blade; their chains will be cut and they can embrace once another as lovingly as they deem fit.

No more red to blemish the silver. What short time they have together is divine but it all ends in violence. For how long?

Soon.

One day soon.

But not tonight.

Tonight, it is time for pleasure and pain once more as life ends and begins anew once more and perhaps, forevermore.

Upon these still waters.

The_Lady_of_the_Lake_by_Speed_Lancelot

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s