Тема суть скопище кривоногих ползающих лысаков, не умеющих держать голову. Посему пропатчу + ввиду вхождения в целевой интервал = месяцу, а значит праздника. Предсмертная исповедь моего друга (полголовы-Вульфтян лишь записала). Лучше, чем он, я не смогу описать свои чувства .
Heather... I love you.
Heather... My beautiful Heather. The mother, the daughter. The succubus pulling me close and pushing me away. How you torment me. Your sweet lips shivering as you see my gift, read my thoughts. Does my affection not make you happy? Are you shy... Unsure... No one will know. Mother of god. I want you.
I need you.
Even when the men in their coats with their silly tie clips stick the sharp things into me, all that I think of is the beautiful ebony hair, flowing just out of my reach. Oh... How I wish to stroke it... To cut it off... Worship it. Won't you let me Heather...? Let me feel those delicate strands, black as the ravens that sit on the railings outside of my room.
See them fly...
Why does it hurt when I think about you. When I think of your hands upon my cheeks, why much it feel as though flames are licking mercilessly at my body. Is it a punishment, for loving the mother of God? Is all that I believe a sin...? I don't care if it is... All I care about is some day seeing your beautiful pale skin, white as snow, stained with your crimson blood, dripping to the floor like rubies. To see you falling before me, your world turning dark.
And then we could be together Heather. We can end it all and the rest of our eternities will be spent in Gods bosom, loving one another, becoming one. Why don't you want that Heather? Why do you refuse my generous gift? My prize. The one thing I had in my hands...? Must I stick it into my wall too? Add it to my collection of gems and shiny trinkets. Must you make me like this? Force me to be like the magpie, stowing and stealing, but never able to fly after the beautiful sun.
Why do you torment me Heather? I do such things to make you happy and you ignore them! You want my gifts Heather. I know you do. Why do you deprive yourself of happiness. Seeing those sad feelings in your angelic face... It makes me want to cut it off! Why must you hate my very being, when I worship not only the ground you stand on but the air you breath, the sunlight that makes your supple skin glow.
You are the holy one Heather. But does that mean happiness is out of the grasp of those beautiful, easily broken fingers you have? You make me scream, you make those men come! Injecting those sharp things deep inside my already wounded body. Every time you deny yourself of my gift, it kills another part of me. My light is going out Heather... But even as I darken the flames grow higher, taller, merciless. How they torment me, their crackling laughter as my flesh drips, foul-smelling from my body. Pooling around me as I writhe, the screams of agony soon turning into pained gurgles as the blood fills my throat, the blood I had always saved for you. This was yours Heather! Why must you do this? We must end it together! But you're gone... And yet you're still here... And I'm fading away. My body a shell of what I once was.
The men came today... They tied me down and stabbed me so hard all over. Their damned potion making my body limp, my eyes glazed over. But they didn't save me from you Heather. I can't stop thinking of you. Of our time together... They're taking me to the elevator. Oh god... Oh god... I know what they're going to do. You know it too Heather! You won't let me be with you! This is my punishment for being seduced by you and my own wild fantasies.
Oh god...It hurts so much. The skin bubbles and the body tries to writhe. I can't get up. They've sewn me into place. They've tied me down with my own body. They've clipped my wings and thrown them into the flames too. My lips charr and blacken as your name is screamed from the depths of hell itself.
Heather... Oh god... I hate you. ©