Nekyia's Threshold

Sunday, November 18, 2007

subject:
When Bad Days Happen
post date:
2007-04-07 21:39:59
views: 18 comments: 0 ratings: 0

(This is a conversation that took place in the NTS chatroom May 28, 2006. I loved this place - brutes all of them, but funny)Sylara: I'm not a guy - I just like guysSylara: the things they do are more vibrantSylara: who can resist a bloody mouth?Sylara: since you're a thinking man, NojoySylara: give me your opinion on this following -(Then I insert an old msn conversation I had with the one guy that I probably almost would have behaved for - I'm Monica in this log) 12/8/2005 12:01:30 AM Monica (to) Kevinhey I got a defination for you so we could speak the same language12/8/2005 12:01:35 AM Monica (to) KevinWhen I talk about "a fantasy" - that means - to me - that by default it will never take place. It is a FANTASY. It is good only because it will never happen, and that very aspect of never gonna happen frees me to explore parts of it in my mind. Something that I desire and am going to get or do, I call a "GOAL"... not a fantasy. So the next time I appall you with an idea that is very much a horrible thing if acted upon, remember that to me if I say FANTASY... its never gonna happen. Also, it'd be nice if maybe I do say something like that if you could let me explain the aspects that are intriguing to me. I promise I'll do the same for you, (then I return to my commentary on what I posted to the NTS chatroom, speaking to Nojoy - who happens to hang out on Cherry Tap too. I'll get to him...)Sylara: .......................Sylara: This guy got totally unfixaxbly bent out of shape over sheep.Sylara: I cry to this daynojoy: lmaonojoy: yea us guys can rock like that =pSylara: how... undetailed.Sylara: I don't know if you're talking about the bloody mouth, the fantasy definition, or the sheep(Then I post to the NTS chatroom another treasured exchange between Kevin and myself)12/9/2005 4:40:25 PM Monica (to) KevinYES. You would like me to tell you that when I sit down with my legs spread apart the gust of wind that exits the cavernous chamber of my love canel is enough to extinguish 100 candles of vigilant devotion12/9/2005 4:40:31 PM Monica (to)Kevin but no.(At this point I'm bounced from the NTS chatroom by Pang (je t'aime, Pang)- another brute, but soooo smart. Upon my return a few minutes later I carry on)Sylara: lolSylara: I love PangSylara: but don't tell himnojoy: =)Sylara: I'm having a bad daynojoy: lolSylara: He's right thoughSylara: Pang knows, somehow, that I am on a downward spiral - its gonna get messy if allowed to continue. So far I'd only gotten to fantasy definitions and the creative extinguishing of 100 candles of vigiliant devotion.Sylara: Imagine how much much MUCH worse it could be.nojoy: kinkynojoy: hes french tho rememberSylara: oui ouinojoy: im sure if you added a name brand beer or liquer hed of +v you

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Ensaneti's Song

Death Dance - Featuring "ENSANETI'S SONG"
(for Nosferatu aka Zack)
Written by Nekyia...from the heart of Monica

The tavern door blew open, the night rushed in, while the candles and smoking oil lamps blew out. The expected cries of surprise from the patrons of Dragon Court were curiously absent, the silence heavy and deep, thick with magicks and rituals yet to come. A sinuous current of air moved towards the stage, unseen in the darkness, yet felt. Fleetwood managed to strike a spark from a piece of flint and light the candle on the table nearest the stage. A word of command punctured the unnatural stillness. The single candle's flickering light grew into a halo that bathed the stage in amber and shadows.

"Illuminae!"

The blood red of her eyes fed the candle's feeble flame.

Standing on the stage was stark contrast in color and affiliation. White skin of a vampire queen, black hair spilling down a gown as black as the hair, red lips, parted, revealing a glint of a white fangtip, red eyes glowing upon the man standing before her. He too, was a contrast in color. White robes of the clergy, red face filled with fury. Her blood red eyes glowed with the knowledge of the blackness of his heart and mind.

"You, Priory, have been given the gift of life, yet death rolls from you as surely as maggots from the rotting eyeballs of the unloved and unwanted waifs that you allow to starve in the coldness of winter because they're not of your faith, fall to your judgements, and become your ultimate sin. I forgive you. I will take you unto me. Into me. Under my will for eternity. This is my talent, my gift."

She turned and smiled into the darkness beyond the halo of light. Long fangs somehow dainty against the curve of her lips.

"I do this for you, my lovers of life, my singers of songs, my dancers of dances, my tellers of jokes. I do this for me. Death comes, mostly, to all. Cross the threshold knowing you lived while you could, having done your part to banish the evil that Priory - in his narrow minded, mean spirited, blasphemic twistings of a covenant of life and love - represents."

Turning back to Priory, the shadows burned around the red faced man, he was stiff with rage, with powerless, impotent desires to flee or fight the sensations washing over him as she began to whisper a ritual unknown to him, forever part of her. The syllables had a taste the onlookers swallowed.

"Stygian darkness, blood tinged light,
night eternal, without fright,
Abyss opens, power surges,
Life and Death within you merges.
There is no end to this beginning,
No descent to halt ascension,
expanding senses, swollen cravings,
rising tides, released from tension.
Follow me, kneel down and stay,
listen to the words I say,
your life is mine, your death is yours,
accept my death gift, and life shall pour from you for an eternity,
in my embrace escape, be free,
the shrouds shall part and you will see,
all things that now are mystery.
Come to me now, feel my yearning,
hunger deep within me churning, burning,
the birth of unchained minds and souls,
flying,
crying out with gentle screams of escaping dreams
turned nightmares,
stalking your breathing world of limits.
Finish it.
Destroy the fear that holds you captive,
a willful prisoner is still a slave,
give up your will to me this day,
this night,
this very hour.
Devour,
Empower, Me."

Priory had relaxed as her words flowed through the room, and him. He watched her with hunger exposed. Dark as his heart, as full as his soul was empty. She tilted her head, questioning.

"Visne saltare?" (Do you want to dance?)

She pulled him, unresisting, into her arms. The black of her gown's flowing sleeves draped the white of his clergy robes, the red of her lips dipped close to his ear. They danced, swaying to a music unheard by the others, though Fleetwood looked down to find his finger tracing slow patterns in the air in time to the graceful steps of the dancers
.
"Da mihi basilia mille..." (kiss me with a thousand kisses)

He trembled, raising her pale white hand to his lips. They danced on, turning slowing upon the stage. White cloth, then black gown, then faster, and faster, casting lingering shadows of grey on the eyes of the silent watchers.

"Amor est vitae essentia!" (love is the essence of life)

"Sanguis est vitae essentia!" (blood is the essence of life)

Priory fell to his knees, trembling, sweating hands raised to cover his face. She pulled his head back, gently.

"Eram quod es, eris quod sum." (I was what you are, you will be what I am.)

Leaning into him, she arched his neck back, until it was taut - the jugular pulsing thickly for all to see. He sighed.

"Esto perpetue..." (may you last forever)

She gave him the first bit of wisdom he would need as her eager accolyte.

"Nox praesidium nostri." (the night is our protection.)

She struck. Gleaming fangs delicately slipped into the flowing river of life undeserved. A fine shower of blood droplets spurted from the punctures, spattering her face with a lacy pattern. She pulled him tightly against her mouth and ravaging lips. As he grew paler, she glowed with a stolen life, a foresaken life. Gasping a final breath of required air, he went limp and fell back upon the stage. Released. Lifeless eyes turning on a rolling head to gaze unseeing at the stunned crowd.

"Consummatum est!" (It is done!)

Bowing low, she laughed. Blood trickling down her neck.

"All together now... on the count of five, yell "RISE!"."

Her laughter continued unabated, interspersing her countdown, which was joined - after a hardening glance from the instigator at the silent witnesses - by the participants of Dragon Court's soon to be infamous Yserbian Idol contest.

"5!"
"4!"
"3!"
"2!"

Ensaneti held up a commanding hand, as she gave the corpse of Priory a hearty kick.

"1 and 1/2!"

Priory stirred, Ensaneti beamed, the crowd leaned forward.

"1!"

"RISE!!!!!"

Her hand wove a simple tornado of motion through the air, Priory screamed, and rose to his feet, limbs rigid. She laughed. And laughed. And laughed. The force of her laughter moved like a stormfront from the stage and banished the halo of flame in its force. Somebody moaned in a resurgance of fear. Fleetwood swore, dropped his flint, hit his head under the table, retrieved it, and struck a spark to the stub of a candle.
The stage was empty of all but a small glistening drop of the spilled blood of the unworthy.

...Ensaneti... Stygian darkness, blood tinged light, night eternal, without fright, Abyss opens, power surges, Life and Death within you merges

Opened Doors:

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Sunday, November 18, 2007

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Ensaneti's Song