122 lines
6.0 KiB
Plaintext
122 lines
6.0 KiB
Plaintext
D'Archanjel of PH*2 presents...
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My name is Erika, and I am a witch.
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-:-
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In this sense:
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I am a witch first and foremost because I actively practice black magic; I
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have black familiar cats, I pray to Lucifer monthly, I cast hexes. But one
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lunar revolution ago, I was a closet witch. I am out of the closet now...
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Out of the frying pan...
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-:-
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I told a small white lie; not a lie really. I have only one black familiar
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cat. I have many dogs, however. They are my familiars, but not in the same
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sense.
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-:-
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My senses have gone; I cannot sense time: sound: odor...
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-:-
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I am so very old.
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-:-
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The torches down the road approach ever nearer. The ragged band treads
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almost fearfully toward me, as if I could hurt them now, in February, in the
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waning moon. It is doubtful that any of them even know the weakness of my
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power; they are as ignorant as they are unjust. At the height of my power,
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five years ago, I might have summoned enough mystical energy to spirit one or
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two of them away, dim though the moon is. Were it full, I could then, as now,
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destroy them all with pouring fiery rain...
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Only blind luck has saved them. I care not for my fellow witches now; were
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it possible to rend the earth asunder, I would do so to save my skin.
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-:-
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Two months ago, I wandered their town. It was the dead of winter. Little
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girls avoided me; boys dared each other to run up to me.
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My power was overflowing; was it my fault the man bumped me?
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He probably did so on purpose.
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-:-
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The soul-searing energy of the occult, eager for a fresh medium of trans-
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port, left my body before I thought to harness it. With a hunger of diffusion,
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it coursed through his untrained, purely conductive body.
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The energy dissipated, dashed through his soles into the ground, grew weak
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as it spread out, lost forever to the powers of the night.
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The man knew only that his soul had been touched, and suffered a mortal
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seizure of the heart immediately. I tried to aid him, but my curative spells
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were witnessed as evil curses. He was dead before he hit the ground, and I
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wished not to bring back the dead.
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An associate of mine brought back a dead man once. She would not talk of
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the experience. I have resolved never to interfere with Thanatos himself.
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A small girl saw my lips mumble the spells. She told her mother.
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Word spread.
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-:-
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Witches are terribly,
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terribly lonely.
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-:-
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The torches draw nearer. I can almost hear their shouts now. I know what
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they say:
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"Witch!" "Burn!" "Kill!" "Avenge!"
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My mother died in this fashion. The aphorisms that angry men use change
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little. All men share the same mindlessness.
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-:-
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My ultimate indignity, at least, shall die with me. These thoughts of mine
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will burn with me. None shall have to know. My private life within these
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castle walls shall remain private. I have burned all: none will know even if
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my home is ransacked.
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I may take small comfort in that.
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-:-
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A thought persists to occupy my mind: if I lived earlier or later, when men
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were more trusting, accepting, forgiving: would I have lived?
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It is useless to ponder that which is not. I remove the thought.
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-:-
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Scotty, my favorite, nuzzles at me even now. Very well, Scotty, indulge.
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He growls deep in his throat as he penetrates me for what will be the last
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time, feeling me clench involuntarily around his long red tool. He does not
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know that this will be our last time together. Others pad up to the two of
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us, wanting to join our wistful, frenzied copulation.
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Scotty braces and moans as he spurts deep inside me. I orgasm faintly, and
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as I collapse on my face, the thought surfaces from inside, rising clearly to
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me, floating into my vision:
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In an hour I shall meet my Lord.
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-:-
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I lie, tired but not exhausted, on the stone floor, listening. I hear voices
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shouting infernally. They must be within sight of my castle by now.
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It is strong. It will take them minutes to break the doors down. Longer.
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-:-
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The others, obediant studs of mine, whimper and lie down as they see my
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disinterest. Scotty is insatiable, and nuzzles my thighs. I roll over, making
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my intent clear. Scotty sighs and sits.
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I stare up at my cracked ceiling.
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-:-
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I wish there was something I could do.
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-:-
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Scotty whines, annoying me. I sit and glare at him angrily. We should not
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fight, not lovers such as us, in my last moments. He doesn't understand.
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Scotty barks.
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-:-
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They have breached the door downstairs. Cold wind howls into my front
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court, and I shiver. I slide into a long, flowing robe--a crimson-red robe.
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It will be a fitting execution for a witch.
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What more can I ask, any more?
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-:-
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They burst in: with guns. They fear me, even now. My pets scatter,
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whimpering, into dark corners, as two men grab me, shouting. They bruise me
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severely as they carry me down my elegant stairs.
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One man would have been sufficient: I weigh little, and struggle less.
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Barking follows me down the stairs.
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-:-
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The night is cold, and windy. I struggle feebly to stay warm as my hands
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are tied behind my back. My robe blows behind me; I squint into the wind,
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uncertain how much of my body is exposed. I see only bright spots of
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torches, and shadows shouting, spitting at me. Then a voice near.
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-:-
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"Confess, witch, and give your soul unto the Lord."
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I say nothing, close my eyes and wait for flames to engulf my life.
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-:-
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I hear Scotty's bark. There is no question now--my robe whips above my
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waist. Then a soft sound as a torch lands on soft straw to my right.
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-:-
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My Lord Lucifer, Dark One, hear my final prayer--
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-:-
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Scotty, Darkling, Whisper, Nightrain, Mezmir, all my pets howl and whine as
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they are clubbed brutally by flaming torches. I feel my body, so near death,
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displayed casually to disapproving men. Then all my loves, my lives, my
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words are forgotten as the first scarring fire embeds the soles of my feet.
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All my teachings gone, all my friends dead, all my dignity lost if only the
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gritting, cracking-hot flame would withdraw from my own flesh:
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From humiliation, I scream.
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