Sep. 1st, 2011

dreamwitch: (Default)
As I lay me down to sleep
This I pray
That you will hold me dear
Though I'm far away
I'll whisper your name into the sky
And I will wake up happy

- Sophie B. Hawkins

In the old stories, it was rarely the woman who was the monster, the many-tentacled goddess, with the man being vulnerable and delicate, a tasty morsel. Even that man would always smile confidently at the idea, tilt his head indulgently perhaps; he knew he was stronger than he looked, after all, more difficult to draw in. The woman is always the prize, even when that woman is the trap door.

In the few stories where the consuming goddess ate the mortal-- cock and soul and all-- always, always, the man went blissfully to his doom, screaming in joy.

If such a goddess had a descendant, millenia later, what might she feel when she looked at the dawning clear eyes of a man she knew she could destroy? If the goddess had a descendant who was herself guarded, trapped, lost-- how might she communicate a basic desire for companionship while hinting of the danger that lurked in getting too close without driving away the other? How might her own heart survive the brilliant immolation she knew always waited for her?

There was only three directions she could see herself walking-- alone, her strength stable but low; together, loving purely while preparing for sacrifice with open eyes; together, taking what was given with no trace of shame, with the full knowledge that supply was limited and it was going to run out one day, maybe soon. Of course, it was hers. Pain may be inevitable, but happiness is in the gentle burning, the long way down.

He was hers.

Or was he?


It wasn't that she didn't like him. Of course she did. ... )

January 2012

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