Syn Divinare: The High Priestess

I sat upon my chair, the sturdiness both comforting and alarming.  I felt overly aware of my posture as he leaned in, his dark, soulless eyes deeper than any man’s, any god’s.  “He knows me,” I thought to myself.
“Open your hands,” he says in his grim, yet seductive tone and I do his bidding.
Out drops the darkest, most beautiful ruby colored flesh of nature I have ever seen.  One by one, they fill my hands, gleaming underneath the candlelight, their pigment staining my skin.  I know I shouldn’t, but I must.
I bring the fruit to my mouth and the seeds burst open on my tongue, the juiciness, the sweetness, the bitterness, the grittiness, it all comes together, and I’m not sure what I feel, but I know I have to have more.
Of them.
Of him.
Ours is not a conventional love.
It stings in my throat, like nectar of the gods.
But I know this is where I belong.
I was never meant to be the happy, cheerful maiden that gallivants among the daisies.
The place where day turns to night, heaven turns to hell, and good becomes evil, that’s where I belong.
Visitors don’t last long here.  But personally, I believe they are just not man enough or woman enough to reside here.
I am my mother’s daughter and I am my husband’s empress and I am exactly who I know I would become.
“There is a core of your being that will never be his…..”
It echoes in my mind.
A girl has to keep some things for herself.


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