Siobhan. That is what She who is They called themselves after the merging. There was no longer any anger toward that which was before, only towards that which had robbed them both of the time they should have spent together as sisters loved, not enemies bitter. The reckoning would make all that needed to be made right, the upheaval would show the world why it was they did not like to walk the dark paths in the night, it would make them see the foulness that was in their own minds and hearts and deeper places where man knew nothing. There would be no peace, no joyful conclusion to the darkness with the spring day dawning bright twixt the trees of the world. The powers of the Dark Goddess would now be shown in full, and there was a world that needed to pay for their deceit.
On seafoam thick with the putrescence of blood and bile, Siobhan raised Herself from the Darkness and onto the surface of the world. The green of Her eye glinting in the miasma that floated about Her as an ethereal gown. Her gown was of the sheerest material, see-through and not. Her perfection was blocked from those who could not see past the ruin and rot. She was the epitome of sexual desire and desire, and the depths of depravity and disillusionment towards what our eyes see when they gaze where they are not welcome. Her hair was purple, like days old bruises blossoming on the skin with sweet delicacy and delightful surrender to the masochism within even the primmest and proper. Her feet were bare, a homage to the beautiful connection to the one thing that had never betrayed either of the Two that was She.
Where She walked, death followed. Not the soft crumpling of flowers under the hand of poison, not the drifting off into the eternal slumber that leaves us peaceful and in our final rest. Rot and screams followed Her, faces melted and flowed down the bodies of those near Her like a bar of melted chocolate in the blowtorch. Eyes exploded with the pressure from within, tongues swelled to unnatural sizes, and the muffled chokes and cries of pain as they died was the sweetest music that had been heard in all of the lands for as long as it had existed.
Siobhan looked up and saw the darkening sky, an act She had not decreed, and knew that which was to blame was behind this, and She made Her way towards the direction of setting sun, delighting as She watched the death spread in the streets around Her.
Madness taking some and She stopped, watching a moment as they took the power drills to their temples, chewed on the bottles of glass they had been holding moments before and stripping off their clothes in agony as they spontaneously caught flame and the dripping fat exploded from their skin, artwork in action, poetry in motion, delight of the highest form imaginable.
Not all died, however.
In the middle of the agony and the pain, there were new things born of the old. Servants of the Dark Goddess who knew their purposes as soon as they exploded from that which had incubated them unknowingly all of their lives, never having a thought that they would morph and transmogrify into the hideousness that they were now in as if they had never been anything else.
With thunderous steps that cracked the very ground, they stepped on, the giant that stopped as Siobhan raised Her perfect hand to rest it upon the foot of the mountain of a thing that moved. The heights impossible to see from where they were, yet Siobhan knew that thousands of feet higher, where air was non-existent, and the air was instant death, a mouth-less face looked down upon Her with magma red eyes and beseeches Her love as it was all that the creature ever wanted, ever would wish to, would burn words to achieve.
Her voice no more than a whisper in the chaos that was now the world She would reshape, Siobhan spoke to the first of the many that would come, the true Sluagh, the nightmares, the new head of the Wild Hunt that would take and take with fear dripping from everything that they approached.
“Come now, my Love, come and listen to Your Goddess, Your Mother, Your Focus and Reason. Follow the sun, follow it until you see where I must go to take from those who have stolen from Me. Go now and bring death to any in your way, seek out to hunt and kill, level and lay waste to the cities of man for the Darkness is ruling now and the lights of these idiots will fade away, and we will make the world as it always should have been.” Her eyes glowed like green fire as She looked upwards to the impossibly tall thing before Her and blew a single breath of air upwards.
With a rage that the planet itself felt, he left, his feet making new valleys int he earth, his eyes weeping the magma his Mother had brought to them burning everything and anything in his path as he methodically made sure to kill and maim, crush and destroy every single thing he could find in his way. Nothing would be spared for his Mother, His Goddess, His Love, had decreed it.
Watching the shapeless mountain move into the distance with the speed that would make sure all would die, Siobhan closed Her eyes and stepped once, and She was back in the rooms of old, except they were redecorated with the filth and furs, the death and evil of the followers of Her sister. She approached them, and they all fell down and worshiped Her and fought one another with teeth and fingers to get closer to Her. The music of their torment made Siobhan throw Her head back and soaked in the love of the turpitude being done in Her honor.
So much, so much to do.
Worlds to build.
Follow The Bear!
© 2019, TheJameyBear. All rights reserved.
I am JameyBear. Liberal. Hippie. Dad. Widower. Poet. Author. Sarcastic Ass. Friend. Lover. Hater.
I have lied and cheated, stolen and done violence in word and deed.
I have given the shirt off my back and they wanted the skin underneath instead.
I am a notorious soft touch, wearing my heart on my sleeve and wanting to make everyone happy.
I tip too much, too often, too many places, and it is has burned me even as recent as this week.
I love everyone I have ever hated still. I will always love the memory of being in love with them.
I want to be your friend. No. I want you to want me to be your friend.
I am clingy and needy, dependent and hopelessly lost in times that I will never live in.
I use language that was archaic when archaic was a new word in the early 19th century.
I want to record myself reading everything so people won’t forget me when I disappear.
I talk too much, listen too deeply, process too quickly and infer way too much.
My beard is also better than yours