The Giver Pt.1

November 6, 2012February 8, 2013 ~ Adriana Noir ~ 20 Comments

Grace ran her fingers over the small silver box. It was a beautiful trinket chest, one that she’d spent many hours admiring as a small child. A small thrill raced down her spine knowing it was hers now.

The intricate carvings had always beckoned to her: the wavy lines, antiquated script, and Maltese-like cross had glinted beneath the noonday sun in the display window for months, calling to her, taunting her, but no more.

She turned the chest over in her hands, relishing the cool press of metal against her flesh. Something close to desire surged through her veins and came to rest in a low coil near the pit of her stomach. Closing her eyes, she moaned, delighting in the first forceful throb. True pleasure held no price.

Shame colored her cheeks, suffusing them with an unpleasant burn. She tried to tamp down the savage impulses rocking her body, but to no avail. The small voice of reason in the back of her mind started to scream, railing that this was not how she was raised. Good girls didn’t desire shiny things. They only sought to be closer to God. Proper girls didn’t desire at all. They clung to virtue above all else and remained innocent and pure.

“We all have our moments of weakness, my love.”

The box tumbled from her hands and clattered against the wooden floor. Whirling, Grace searched for the source of the breathless whisper. Her wide gaze darted around her bedroom, glancing off the antique dresser and veiled canopy bed, but she found nothing. Sheer lace curtains fluttered in the late autumn breeze wafting through the open window. They billowed outward, reaching for her before they intertwined and melded like two spectral lovers engaging in a primal dance.

“Who’s there?” she whispered. The burn in her face deepened as embarrassment crawled over her. Cold silence loomed in hushed reply.

Weeks had passed, but her obsession with the box had grown no less. Grace shifted, squirming against the hard wooden pew. The preacher’s voice droned in her ears, but her mind was a million miles away. Her mother’s bony elbow gouged her ribs, threatening to pull her back. Gritting her teeth, she rebelled, the pain driving her deeper into the fantasies that enveloped her.

Candlelight flickered, casting a dim golden glow through the room. Thin tendrils of smoke twisted from the fiery tips where it drifted to meld with the shadows. A strange, but not unpleasant smell flooded her nostrils. It was heavy and sweet, reminiscent of damp earth and the dry, brittle leaves that lined the streets.

Grace tensed. Her eyes tried to probe the darkness cloaking the far reaches of the room. Her skin tingled, the small hairs on the nape of her neck lifting with a keen sense of danger and a thrill of excitement. She was not alone.

A tall figure emerged from the blackness. For a moment, the two appeared one, until it stepped forward on soundless feet.

“You have come to me.”

She shuddered at the deep voice. The dulcet tones seemed to wash over her, caressing her body in ways she’d never dreamed possible. Grace teetered, sensing her body hovering on the brink of some delicious precipice. Her eyes drifted shut and she trembled with savage pleasure.

“Yes.”

A fathomless chuckle rumbled in her ears, the figure amused by her breathless confession.

“Do you not find it ironic that you pick this exact moment to supplicate yourself at my feet?”

Her eyes snapped open, and Grace blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He stepped closer and she strained to decipher his face in the shadows. They seemed to drift with him, cloaking him in their obscurity despite the candle’s attempts to light the room.

“Nevermind, my sweet. It is unimportant. All that matters now is your happiness. I am here to serve you.”

“Who are you?” she asked, forcing a swallow past her tightening throat.

“Me?” he said, pressing closer. She jumped as long fingers threaded through her hair and stroked her head in a gentle brush. “I am a giver.”

“A giver of what?”

Grace’s heart slammed against the walls of her chest as the figure leaned over her and his face became clear. A long, straight nose loomed above full and sensuous lips. Eyes the color of illuminated whiskey peered back at her, unblinking. She fought the urge to recoil in her chair, feeling them probe clear down to the depths of her soul. It was an unnerving sensation—one that left her feeling robbed of all defenses, stripped down naked and exposed.

“The giver of all that your heart desires,” he whispered. She shivered as his warm breath caressed her skin. “And perhaps something more.”

“What if I asked for riches?” She swallowed against the fear blossoming in her throat.

“Then you shall have them, my sweet. All that you could imagine is yours for the taking.”

That shrill voice rose in the back of her mind. It was frantic, pleading, insistent that whatever this was wasn’t human—that she turn away from the madness before it drew her in any deeper. The hot, almost scalding brush of his fingers beckoned her away from her worries, and she fought a smile.

There was tenderness in his touch, a reverence she had not felt since she was a child and her grandfather would stroke her curls. She’d never known the love of a father, but somehow, she sensed this could be better.

Her gaze lifted once again to lock with his. “What are you?”

The figure leaned over her, pressing his soft lips against her cheek. White teeth flashed with the knowing smile he bestowed. “Consider me an angel if you must, love. I am but a humble servant here at your command. My only purpose is to satisfy your longings, whatever they may be.”

Grace’s eyes drifted shut. She found herself titling to the side, her face upraised, longing for his touch. It was a brutal slap from her mother’s gloved hand that greeted her instead. Stunned, it took her a minute to readjust to her surroundings. The preacher’s voice continued to drone on in the distance. Cold ire flashed dangerously in her mother’s iron stare.

“You will uphold yourself and behave properly in the house of the Lord!” she hissed.

Grace couldn’t help but liken her to a venomous serpent. In that moment, her mother’s eyes were every bit as lethal and assessing as a snake’s. Sighing, she slumped back against the pew. The heady scent of incense hung in the air, mingling with the cloying mixture of sweat and perfume riding the crowd. She tensed as a warm breeze swirled past, one not carried by the slow churning of the ceiling fans overhead. It brushed her cheek leaving a pleasant tingle in its wake, and the tantalizing smell of earth teased her senses.

A small smile curved her lips, despite her mother’s scrutinizing stare. Even the preacher faltered in his sermon, his eyes seemingly searching out hers through the crowd.

Grace didn’t care. All that mattered was the sultry whisper she heard as the invisible fingers touching her face slid free. A lone word cloaked in promise, assuring all would be okay:

“Mine…”

To be continued…

~ Adriana Noir

All Is Lost

September 4, 2012February 8, 2013 ~ Adriana Noir ~ 19 Comments

So the moment comes, when redemption fades away.
It slowly curls like ashes beneath the light of day.
Darkness shreds my soul as I sink into the deep,
And somewhere high above me, the angels gently weep.

I rise, but I am Fallen; blackness taints my wings.
Cursed love, take my light and the agony it brings.
Don’t speak to me of lonely; I live upon its shore.
Bereft of all but anger, I ache for something more.

A loner among many, I crave the absent sun,
Chained beneath the burden of all that I have done.
Love is but a memory, a secret that I keep.
And somewhere high above me, the angels gently weep.

Humans dwell in darkness and bind it to their soul,
Unaware that greed and suffering are what will make us whole.
Their world falls to ruin, the consequences steep,
And somewhere high above me, the angels gently weep.

The Fallen dance and revel; their golden eyes do shine,
While they trace the scars that brand me—wings that once were mine.
Putrid demons rule, but my heart no longer cares,
My empathy has withered with vacant human stares.

Compassion is a gift, and once it’s thrown away
Nothing’s left to cage the Beast, and keep the dark at bay.
The Evil Prince of Lies awakes from his banished sleep.
And somewhere high above me, the angels gently weep.

So give into tragic fate, and let your heart grow sour.
Mourn the years that passed you by, and waste this very hour.
These are the things that please my kind and make them grow strong–
You’ll dance like puppets to the beat of their siren’s song.

My brothers I’ve abandoned to a deadly fate,
The hour is upon us, I fear it is too late.
Though the Light here has died, your memories they will keep.
And somewhere high above me the angels gently weep.

And somewhere high above me, the angels gently weep . . .

~ Adriana Noir

I am Seir

July 3, 2012February 8, 2013 ~ Adriana Noir ~ 23 Comments

Every particle of my being strains, rebelling against the knowledge flooding my veins. It’s not nature that lingers on the horizon, poised and on the verge of attack. This is something much worse, a force far darker than the world ever dared imagine.

It is the approach of death.

The economy has brought about its own kind of strain. People cave beneath the stress and pressure of everyday life. They turn on themselves and each other with the ferocity of rabid wolves. Nothing is held sacred anymore. The world pulses to the beat of frightened mortal hearts.

I’d like to say I feel pity watching humans suffer, but I don’t. If anything, they have it coming. Mortals are greedy, self-centered creatures too blinded by their own desires to realize the damage they have done. They think they are impervious to the fate that looms above them . . . but they are not.

There will come a time when the sun no longer dispels the shadows cast by mankind. Perpetual darkness will entomb the world and smother it against her callous breast. The final battle draws near, a pointless war for a worthless prize.

My words may offend you. I only speak the truth. You are nothing but puppets to my kind. Weak and desperate you call our names, bleed us dry, and offer nothing but petty trinkets in return. You’re ungrateful, self-centered sheep, too blind to see that mortality is a blessing. Death is a blessing. To roam these forsaken planes for all eternity with no expiration date—that is the true definition of hell.

Bitterness paints my soul with vile shades of grey. Exiled and far from home, the infinite waves of loneliness batter my forsaken shore. I am faced with an infinite nothingness, knowing that the drums of war rise in the distance, and those in my company press close. They gnash their teeth in eager anticipation, starving for a mere taste of mortal blood. They will relish in your downfall and take glee upon hearing your wails of despair. Like the Pied Piper luring rats from the city, your screams will serve as music, calling forth the bloodthirsty and damned.

Do not call on me when that day comes. I care little for the wants and needs of a dying society. You brought this upon yourselves. Each lie that flowed with ease from your tongue, each withered promise whispered brought you one step closer to despair.

There was a time when I loved your pathetic lot, but time has a way of eroding our resolve. I would like to forget this time of weakness, but I cannot. Unending reminders brand my skin. My essence is tethered, weighed down by the layers of damnation draped around my soul.

I am no angel. I am a Fallen, forsaken, damned—and your time has come.

~ Adriana Noir

The Hunter

May 1, 2012February 8, 2013 ~ Adriana Noir ~ 16 Comments

Slinking through the shadows, the wakened beast starts to rage.
Cursed and bound to endless dark, he hates his moonlit cage.
Longing for a taste of light, the hunger swells within.
Lips pulled taut across his fangs, he dons a feral grin.

Corded muscle starts to quiver with the song of night.
Snout turned up to sniff the air, he tracks his victim’s flight.
Yellow parchment wings expand with a muted rustle.
Deadened twigs crack in the woods ‘neath his victim’s hustle.

Her pounding heart provides the song pulsing in his ears.
Flee and chase, a pointless game, performed throughout the years.
Razor talons glint beneath the silver glow of moon.
Eyes slit with enraptured bliss, he knows it will be soon.

Caught up in the thrill of hunt, the demon gives a howl.
Withered leaves fall below; he emits a smell most foul.
Pungent sulfur fills the air; his victim starts to cry.
Blinded by a veil of tears, she knows that she will die.

Sprawled in savage tumble, they go crashing to the ground.
His amber eyes dance with glee; she begs without a sound.
With an ominous rumble, he claims his frightened bride.
Wings pressed flat against his back, he thrusts his fist inside.

Prize in hand and bathed in blood, he holds her stilling heart.
Depraved, he licks it clean and beholds the Devil’s art.
Coiled over crimson form, he eats his fallen foe.
Take heed when in shadow, or this hunter you will know.

~ Adriana Noir