Darkly Enchanted

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
A bit poetical, but a lustrous view on the night hours.

Submitted: December 22, 2011

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Submitted: December 22, 2011

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 I flirt with the edge of the night. I wander to the where the light is just barely fingering the seams of my clothes, or the curling ends of my hair. I sometimes dance to and fro, back and forth, across that evident threshold. The cool grip of blackness around me is the only incubus which commands the slave inside me. The secrets it keeps from my unworthy eyes and the dangers that are, themselves, overly seductive, reign supreme over all my instincts. Instincts which scream for me to turn, to run.. and hide from the horrors they know, better than  me, to fear. I stand searching and waiting, for that which I could never understand, to take me for a ransom none could pay; so that I will remain its willing victim for eternity. So it will devour me. And, the pain.. so deliciously, deliriously overwhelming.. could find me drunk with regret and, yet oddly satisfied.

 I know the danger. I know the risk. And, that is the part which is most captivating. Being the hunted.. being the prey.. I can't seem to make sense of the appeal. Sense, or not, I feel that same appeal regardless of my lack in understanding. It washes over me in cold, crisp waves rocking my body from the fear of it. The fear of it.. That natural reaction which I fight, for as long as I can.. A giggling child saying "Bloody Mary" in the mirror, until a face forms from my imagination.. And I feel the darkness uncoiling itself, answering my naive, ignorant call. It means to slurp up the lamb that bleats before it, without question. Why give any thought to a sacrifice which offers itself so completely, so freely?  And I.. I hunger for it. For the sudden seizing, tight and firm about my neck. No soft hand would satisfy me like the moment of delicious fear, where I realize I could perish. My life in the palm of the entity, the breathing being of the night, could be forfeit but I would breath in ecstasy, of those fragile moments. Not in hopes life’s flame would be smothered, nor in wanting that fate. Alas, only in the knowledge that it could be so easily snuffed out..

 Sometimes I talk to the moon as I tempt the nights shadows. He simply watches me with a contented smirk, never whispering beneath the blanket of velvet with me. I am convinced that he collects my secrets only to rush off after three weeks, and spread them to his own allies, the stars. I watch them, too, sometimes. I wonder if  stars truly catch my eyes, in the those moments, or if I just want to believe that I am lingering in the light despite enticing its mysterious twin. The last comfort of a person who cannot resist the dangers to which they are entranced? Perhaps.

We are not enemies, the moon and I, however. Contrary to the idea, he is the silent intimacy that nearly every man I have “accompanied” never attempted to be. He washes me in pale, attentive light and is ever watchful of my progress in all encompassing darkness. He, alone, is careful never to let me slip into shadow for too long, without circling the globe to give me the choice of  his light. Never bathing me without my first searching him out, he offers me more faith than those same suitors who fail even attempting true intimacy without immersing me in over-protection. I am robbed of no experience, not without his faithful warning, but given complete, and guiltless, liberty.

 He isn't aware, this lovely creature.. that I prefer the nocturnal nature of the stars. He isn't conscious to my love for the cold fingers slipping their way about my own pale skin. Or how I love the allure of evil lurking all around me. He saves me, of course, when fear wins out. The night creeping within my mind, and setting lose a nightmare of poison within my mind; releasing those same creatures, and some more vile, within the forest of my imagination to haunt me, distracting from the true danger. He ensnares me, within his glowing arms of light, with those same instincts I ignore. He calms my pacing heart, whispering of my safety.. And, his might. They, he assures me, will not chance this side of that line which I dance.. He, after all, is upon this side. I am his. None will take me from him, nor live to speak of the moment they foolishly dared if it ever comes to pass.  To him, he coos, I belong. I am forced to see, with no true bonds, I cannot give away that which was never mine to begin with. And, that remains true for any part, or portion, of me.

Still, I dance.. And I whisper. I tempt, and I tease..

Held against the twin chest of its weakness, I wonder….

Is there anyone else enthralled with the darkness quite me?


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