Update

 We are officially moving over to Wordpress, and will be changing identity! More information will follow as this week goes on. 

The new blog will be named, The Crimson Wild! <3

Soulless

 With your kiss

On my skin

And our bridge up in flames

I see your face,

I fall in slow motion

With your eyes on the prize

I must reach but

My arms are lead

And my face is frozen

And numb, so numb.

With your grin

On your face

And our bridge up in flames

I see the floor,

And it doesn't hurt

With my blood on your hands

I must crawl but

My blood is gold

And my heart is frozen

And still, so still. 

With your kiss

On my skin

And our bridge up in flames

I don't feel you,

I reach out for your soul

With my hand in your chest

Betrayal

Are my glowering eyes

To hard for you to bear

As the weight of your sins

Pushes you to the ground?

My fangs white as snow

And specks of your blood

Upon my face

From your most delicious veins

My anger mounted on your worst nightmare;

A lack of attention

And lack of inclusion

In your favorite groups of "friends"

Just to spy on me,

Who you've decided to slight,

To dishonor, to betray

In the name of what? Attention?

Your vain influence and lies

With their hands around your neck

Drowning and choking you

From the inside out

Tell me, 

At what point does it end;

And do you feel remorse

For anyone you have touched?

Number Four: Celestia

Blinded by the darkness
How could I ever see the light again
In any of your faces,
Your bright smiles now erased

And the flowers, the trees
That once bound me are fled
From my crooked, petrifying,
Horrific gaze

My fangs dig deep into the souls
Of the damned and the forgotten
The wretched, the wicked
As I am become now

The pull of the darkness
Tendrils tying me down
Until I give in to this
Madness, this spiral of anger

It pulls me deeper and deeper
Into this black abyss and whispers
Into me, the future, past, and present
Until my sanity drips from my veins

Cut me open, and let it bleed
More and more until there's
Not enough evil to fill my body;
My heart, my soul -

Or perhaps the worst punishment
Is the mercy of it all;
To let me live with this insanity
Every. Single. Full moon.

Number Three: Iselta(i)n(e)

My sisters' words run deep
In my patient grace
And as the corruption leaves me,
Only the good is left behind.

Do not let my appearance fool you,
For I am danger. I am a predator.
And if you're on my bad side,
I can hunt you down with a wave of my hand.

My well-manicured nails and my
Perfectly placed flower crown
Can not define who or what I am
To myself or to the world.

I might be good, I may
Have the patience that saints dream of,
And my poise and collected attitude
Might lead you astray,

But don't let it seduce you,
Your charming human ways -
So gullible, so naive.
Let me be the wisdom that saves you.

I can be your light,
Your golden rays of hope
On the worst day of your mortal lives.
Or perhaps my sisters are more your type?

The T-Shirt

I found it
The shirt that you left at my house
Many weeks ago
Before you left.

I know it's there, in my drawer
And I wonder -
No, I must not do it -
And my heart sinks a little lower

As I remember that when I see you next
You may want it back -
Or maybe if I don't say anything,
Anything at all, I can keep it for now?

Days go by where I haven't left
My velvet draped, barred bedroom
This tomb I have built for myself
To die within

And I hear your voice in my headphones
And I suddenly remember:
The shirt is here,
Within my reach.

And I force myself out of my bed
With such vigor as an undead
Can while being so
Hungry in this agonizing state of mind

I slip it on, feeling your protection
Wash over my once crawling skin,
Calming the waves
In this ravaged, torrential sea.

The chaos is over, until I smell it:
I smell you
Even after washing this shirt with
My own guilt stained laundry

And suddenly I'm in heaven again,
And smelling the collar is just
Not enough; It would
Never be enough to satiate this

Want, this need,
This disability to function without
Every inch of your mind,
Your soul, your soft yet firm demeanor

Stifling, drowning me until I
Can't feel myself anymore...
And I lift up the shirt from the
Bottom, to my face

Smothering you all over me
Until all I can breathe is you
And I can feel you wanting me too,
Just like we were before.

And maybe, just maybe, it's crazy
That a scent could do such
Terrible, selfish things to me.
But I know that next time I see you

I won't be able to stop the salivation
From your laugh, your smile, your wit,
Your silvery eyes that I could
Lose myself in for days.

Our marks still burn and I could
Smell you from hundreds of feet away,
The saliva filling my mouth and my
Teeth growing with desire.

And while I fill myself with all of you,
Your scent from this shirt you so
Carelessly left in my hands,
I haven't hurt you yet --

We are still more than just friends,
And the goodness of your heart is
Possessing me just as I possessed you
As you worshiped my body.

But in the end, when I finally finish
And there is no more scent left
And the moon is black
And the darkness fills my room,

I am once again alone
In this tomb I have built for myself to die in,
And I am so sure that you
Haven't missed me for a moment.

My hunger, my need for you
Isn't satiated at all
And I know it may never be again,
But we'll see, won't we?

The next time I see you
And I can't stop staring
Will you notice me struggling
To stay away from you, even for a second?

Will you remember the way I could
Barely resist the smell of your
Sweatshirt, your chest, your neck
Before we were even together?

Or will you simply ask me for
That shirt back,
Leaving me with nothing,
Not even hope, to hold onto?

------------------------------------------

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Narcissist

Read me like a book
Your eyes pierced my soul
As a spider faintly crawls
Under a wooden door frame

But the more words spoken
The more you grew,
Your soft skin crawling
Into human upstanding

Shifting, reading, waiting
Your never ending thoughts
But no guilt, no conscience
To brush your hunt aside

Your viscous, umber venom
Dripping on the carpet
I had laid out to marry on
With no mind to stop.

Remind me that I let you in
Remind me this was my doing
Innocence you feigned upon
Your shifting, smug smile

Tell me that I'm wrong
The way you dance,
You flirt, you charm
Is not for your amusement

Roll the dice, poke the bear
Forget that I am something more
So I may come to conscious
Once you are faced away

~Wedding Mini Hiatus~

I will not be posting any new writing today, because I am getting married this coming Friday, September 21st. Ozymandias will not be posting this coming weekend either, since he is my Man of Honor. I hope everyone who reads this has a wonderful two weeks while waiting for us to scribble our thoughts onto this interdimensional web again.

Sincerely,
Miskatonic Madeleine

Love and Cold Winds: Part 4: Obligatory Backstory

    Garn was one of those people who made pros and cons list in their head as they assess their life and long term goals. He was doing so now aboard the traveling caravan, which was as hospitable as a long wood and metal reinforced box that could comfortably fit a party of five human sized occupants. (8 if they were of the smaller races) The dragonborn was the tallest and widest of them all so it was rather cramped. The upside was that the storm flavored mage's own space was right next to his meaning the pair had plenty of time to talk and get to know each other.
    Downside? Flirting is incredibly awkward around a nosy halfling bard who made flagrant eyebrow gestures that flew over Vort's head, but the tall lizard caught all of them. Norra was fairly pleasant as she seemed too oblivious to all of this and was definitely more concerned about the rather fat horse's food intake. Though it did not need a diet, should you mention it the horse would hit every bump on the road until they stopped. Garn could only assume this through the grumpy whinnies in response to Norras' words.
    After the slog of a quest within Gardlid, what followed was an attempt to short change them due to the outdated paper work. It ended when Garn, Norra, and Vort loomed over the head secretary of the Gardlid guild management like a trio of angry deities while Lym spoke calmly and clearly to keep them from smiting the whole place. Thus the original reward was doubled, they stocked their wagon, and then they headed further north toward the larger city of Nomands to register their new party and head to the nearby dungeon.
    To pass the time, well-thumbed decks of tarot cards were pulled out and games from basic poker to a strategy game called Black Tower were played. Garn managed to sneak in a few wins against the seasoned players, though he guessed they were going easy on him. The days wore on as such, swampland slowly receding to allow firmer earth to support hearty trees. They stopped every now and again to cook and share stories of past adventures or of their personal lives when the alcohol was brought out.
    They learned of Garn's life within his tribe, raised by a pair of fiercely protective widows who taught him everything they knew. His friends laughed as he described the farewell meal that nearly made him comatose. He learned of Norra's life being adopted into a small band of rangers tasked with protecting a distant king's sacred forest, and how they stayed behind to fend off the usurper's men while she fled with what lay in the heart of that place.
    Lym sung his tale in the tavern of a small passing town, of how his family wished for him a life not of song and revels but of trade, merchantry, and arranged marriage. The switch from the somber song to a upbeat tempo of how he ran away with his favored lute, the dowry, and the clothes on his back sent the the spectators into an uproar of laughter and cheers.
    Vort was the last to really speak up, and the other two shared knowing glances when the young man held a melancholy smile and simply said he would share when the time was right. The time, as it seemed would be when Lym insisted they stop at a magically formed hot spring a 2 miles from the city proper before their backs all seized up from the mountain of paperwork they would have to work on. Norra vanished into the woman's section of the spring while Lym vanished into the massage parlour with a pair of elves in tow.
    Garn had settled into the hot spring, the slow season leaving the steaming body of water to himself, for at least a few minutes before someone stumbled and landed face first into the water. Steam rose and obscured the figure floating face first in the water, once it cleared enough he caught sight of storm grey hair. He jumped and quickly waded over to Vort and helped him up.
    "You alright?" he asked, keeping the very obviously drunk mage steady.
    Vort looked up unfocused at him and leaned up against him. "I'm drunk!"
    The dragonborn snorted, guiding him to the sunken benches and sitting him down. Vort apparently was a cuddly drunk as he found out, wrapping himself around a free arm. He noticed the scars fairly quickly, given the sheer quantity of them over his body. Old blade wounds and the strange twisting scars of magical attacks spotted his skin, but the most old and prominent were the branching pale lines that resembled lightning covering most of his body.
    "They're pretty ugly huh?" Vort slurred somberly, locking eyes with our narrative vehicle.
    "I wouldn't say that." he replied, the questions stuck to his tongue.
    As if reading his mind, Vort settled against him, hair sliding down to obscure his eyes.
    "Most magical orders find my sect, the Storm Callers, 'barbaric'. The nicer ones call it a relic of an old age, when the lines between druidism and magic were still blurred. They would both be kinda right and wrong in a way." He sluggishly kicked his leg up, sending rough ripples though the springs water. "We do not tame lightning or the air, instead we temper our bodies with intense training to make it our own, like forging. The storm we call on is inside us, made by the deep hate and respect forged from our cruel teachers."
    Silence followed as Vort said nothing else, as he didn't really need to. Garn could already get a far too vivid picture of the little human's early life washed in pain and fury. It made him wonder briefly if Vort's smile was ever genuine. His morbid thought was halted when he heard the mage giggle, and looked down to see him smiling up.
    "You know your tail twitches when your contemplating." he giggled again.
    At least this smile is genuine, Garn thought as returned the smile. "And you become a clumsy poet when you're drunk."
    They both laughed at that, after which a comfortable silence followed as the two enjoyed each other's company lounging in the springs. Garn did have to carry Vort back to his bed as he solidly passed out against the dragonborn, but it was rather obvious that he did not mind at all.

Body Snatcher

Ever lying
Under shadow
Watching myself
Playing, stringing

Lies and lies
Blanket tears,
Eyes and eyes
Dampen fears

Steeling spirits
Holding closer
Soaking inside
Pulling, thieving

Face to face
Scaring you,
Skin to skin
Stealing you

Ever crying
Under shadow
Watching myself
Morphing, sculpting

Lies and lies
Stealing souls
Eyes and eyes
Burning gold

Shapeshifter -Part IV-

This woman I stole had been in impeccable physical health, but she had the anxiety of someone who had been through more than a few incidents in her life. I didn't have time to reflect on it as she sucked me into this deep conversation that I was letting her trap me into. I was a willing participant, strung up in her web of anecdotes. Her words always gave me both a flutter in my stomach and a tightness in my chest, like a titan squeezed around my lungs with an enormous grip. It was both familiar and incredible, though the squeezing was a bit harder than my liking in this body.

Not showing my unease, I hoped, I forced myself to breathe the best I could, and timed it with the ticking of my designer watch, at the same time demanding my eyes to stop looking anywhere but into hers.

"Do you understand what I mean?" she looked straight at me, a sincerely concerned look on her face. She's been talking this whole time and all I've been doing is breathing. God. Damn. It.

"Yeah. Thank you." I smiled, speaking slightly better than squeaking, this time.

"So what's bothering you? What's on your mind, hun? You look lost."

I looked down awkwardly, trying to use body language to my advantage. "I don't really want to talk about it, thanks though." Damn it, why did I do that? Looking around in a small panic I said, "Honestly I'd really just like to talk with you about other things, if that's okay."

"Oh? Well how would you like to hear about my most recent breakup?" She gave a smile that read about as innocent as a demon of depravity.

"Uh, yeah, sure." Shit. SHit. SHIt. SHIT. 

"Let me tell you something, this lady was incredible. She was beautiful, rich, good at making love, and cared about me. But you know how sometimes people can get a little too into you?"

I stared blankly and just barely nodded.

"She was possessive, you know? She said that she just couldn't bear to see me with anyone else, whether it be an acquaintance or a friend. Total bullshit, if you ask me. Happens all the time, though" she sighed. "Everyone else I know has issues with guys or ladies cheating on them, and I'm over here with the stalkers." she laughed. It sounded like the Christians' version of the Devil in my ears.

I believed that I was keeping my calm well, until I realized my eyes were spread wide in amazement. My mouth was definitely also agape. "I suppose I can imagine what you mean... After all, people need their space, right?"

I frantically searched my mind for hundreds of ways I could distract myself and have time for myself while dating her, and exactly zero of them were appealing to me. Reading? I've read every book I own plus I already read two books per day from the library. Painting? Boring. Music? Already d --

"Damn straight... What was your name again, sweetie?"

We exchanged names and numbers, and that was the moment I made it my mission to let her have time for herself at all costs, for the fifth time. The first time didn't count, since I didn't truly know her until it was too late. But this time, the sixth relationship, I am making my fifth attempt at this 'space' thing count.

That evening after I went home, all I could do was sit and breathe while my mind gradually churned slower from the excitement that afternoon. I sipped my finest whiskey with my back slouched into the new marshmallow couch I had delivered a few days prior. Even though the television was on, I didn't see it. I didn't even truly hear it. My eyes looked but the rest of me was seeing micro expressions, blinks, shimmering hair, all belonging to her. Why did I have to choose a body with such bad anxiety? I agonized over how the conversation went, over and over through my chaotic brain.

Though, after a while, it turned into my past faces, my new face, my plans, my life... And
like the waves of an ocean, my mind caressed the edges of the coast of where my wonder sat. Why am I the way I am? And if the Gods made humanity, then who made ME? I jumped out of my seat as I saw Vincent's face stare back at me from the lit screen. And now I'm hallucinating again. Great. My whiskey now covering the nearby rug, I wandered to bed and laid in the darkness, truly feeling how alone I was for the first time for as long as I could remember. Those questions lurked ever closer than before, creeping about the corners and niches of my mind while I tried to focus on anything, everything else. Each and every one haunted me into my sleep.

Sweetwater: Anniversary II

Twilight had just begun creeping over the town by the time Gertie had made her way home, a cozy cottage amongst other cozy cottages tucked away along a road that neatly divided the edge of Sweetwater forest and civilization.
     Gertie hauled a few large bags up and fumbled her way into the kitchen, pausing to enjoy the ever present scent of dried herbs adding to the "witches kitchen" aesthetic that swallowed up the remnants of a tired and aged kitchen that was there when they moved in. (The living room had been Gerties project, turned into the home of mismatched comfy furniture, Persian rugs, and animal plushies.)
    The back door was open, screen door allowing a cool breeze to gently roll in bringing with it the scent of magic (such scent varies from person to person, for this particular witch they gave off the smell of cooked walnuts and honey). Gertie peeked out into the backyard with a smile creeping on her face. Much like the kitchen the backyard belonged to Sami and was soaked in mystique and magic the circular garden could cram into it.
    Plant life both familiar and strange grew in the beds; basil, mint, lavender, sage, foxgloves and butterfly bushes. Among them grew strange lupines, thin stalks that held fat golden buds that swayed without wind and held a swirling luminescence within their petals. The same invisible winds seemed to move the willow trees leaves as it sat at the front of the garden.
    At the center of all this was a simple stone bench which Sami sat. Love, one might say is sparked by the first glance of someone, Gertie however fell in love all over again when she laid eyes on Sami. They were petite and willowy, almost buried in the big fuzzy cardigan and rose printed skirt with long blond hair tumbling over her back. Their large round glasses sat next to a crescent sickle on the bench.
    Even if she couldn't see Sami's face Gertie knew they had a serene smile on their face as her hands slowly danced though the unseeable forces that swirled and flowed though the garden, through and around the strange Lupines and gold tinged leaves of Sami's willow.
    They had tried to explain magic to Gertie, how they had to "make sure it's an eddy not a swamp, so the flowers can grow right." The more complicated details went over Gerties head, but she knew garden tending took time. Which gave her ample time to prep her gift.
    After the sun stubbornly quit and the night made itself at home, Sami wandered back into the house. She set several bushels of herbs and now blooming lupines (the irony of the name not lost on either) and began separating them into twine held bundles. She could see Gertie holding herself back, and once she was finished she braced for her usual greeting: a bear (wolf?) hug, topped with a kiss to the top of Samis' head.
    "Happy Anniversary flower child." Gertie said sweetly.
    there was a short pause before Sami said, "Oh shoot, was that today?"
    Awkward silence came crashing in like a tree falling on top of a Prius. the werewolfs head spun with so many thoughts and responses to this situation and eventually decided to shift forms to hold Sami up and pout in a way only lycanthrops can.
    It took a good five seconds before the witches poker face cracked, a fit of giggles broke free. This prompted their girlfriend to sit her on the kitchen counter, cross her arms, huffing loudly and turning away.
    "No Floofs come back!" Sami giggled, only receiving an indignant grunt in response.
    " I got you that pink fur dye you wanted." she said in a sing song voice.
    Gertie looked over her shoulder.
    " I even got a heart stencil so we can do the pattern you liked from Para-naturals." 
    It must be said, werewolves do not have the best poker faces in their other forms, as Gertie's tail started to wag and eventually returned to hugging Sami in an even more warm and fluffy fashion. There tender moment was interuptted by Gerties brain, reminding her of the tidal wave of excietment and panic that congealed into the picnic basket sitting on the table, managing to look expectant without a face.
    She shifted Sami into one arm and grabbed the basket and jogged out the door, a big grin plastered to her face.
    " Uh Floofs? Where are we going?" Sami asked, wrapping their arms around the werewolves neck.
    " Someplace," she said making sure her mate and the basket was firmly in hand (paw?) before sprinting into the tree line at supernatural speeds that left the surprised, and then excited shouts of Sami behind them.
    If you asked any couple new or old, the adventure to Blue Moon Lake is just as     If you asked any couple new or old, the adventure to Blue Moon Lake is just as romantic as the place itself. Legend has it if you do find the lake with water so clear and blue the moon always reflects with the same shade, then your love will last eternal.
    Gertie had blindly found the correct series of woodland paths on their fist date with Sami. It had been a magical night, aided in its rose tinting by a copious amount of alcohol.  She thankfully remembered the way to the shore of the luminescent lake.
    A steriotypical checkered sheet laid out, wine, along with a chicken dinner and a bluetooth speaker playing a certian old song by a famous crooner that was the right amount of cheesy. Looking into Sami's eyes Gertie could see a mixture of surprise, love, and a bit of bemusemnt, further shown by her tell tale grin.
    " What?" asked Gertie.
    " Nothing, my romantic." she giggled.
    Gertie blushed and chuckled along with her, before she leaned in and kissed the little witch. The food and wine momentarily forgotten as they pulle themselves closer and held the moment as the song reached its climax before Gerties stomach grumbled and prompted Sami to giggle.
    " Well, we should eat before the food gets cold." the witch said. " So your stomach can't ruin any more romantic moments."
    "Agreed." Gertie said, happily tearing off a leg while Sami carved herself off a piece.