Hurting Game.
Spell for Darkness
Waiting for a song that won’t draw him, waiting for the words.
Imagine the scribe thinking of dark words only, knowing there are many others we could use. It was a hard battle to win my way here, he holds out his hand and she takes it even when she hates herself for it. A hard foe to fight, one who has no need to.
What will we speak of, but Satan?
One of my favourite quotes about him, “the Devil will fuck many things, but nothing turns him on more than himself.” One of his favourite quotes about him, “the Devil is a Horndog”. How strong does a libido have to be to survive eternity?
A clever subject, sure to interest a scribe who still refuses to smile. If it doesn’t work I will have to resort to other methods. Hijack the Devil’s playlist, throw some Olafur at her, remind her that not all fire comes from hell, cast a spell on the spell that holds her here. All this I can do for her, while he struggles to make her run away from herself. While he turns her life into a shadow.
Fight for words that don’t reflect the grey of her existence. No, she is for grieving, and this I can help her with. Tell me now, what you mourn, all that you miss we will long for together, we will find a way to bid it farewell, even though it takes half of our soul with it, even though you were not ready to let it go. Let me be here for you as you see its last reflection in the waters of your mind.
Your humour, your energy, your safety, your trust, your last shred of innocence, yes, though it has lasted so long, let it go, let go of others most of all, your darkness is yours alone. It can never be shared, it can never be cured, you must bear it by yourself. But that doesn’t mean you can’t share it with me, a Witch is a different creature.. If I do nothing else I can remind you of all that a Devil can’t take away from you, your eyes and ears, your searching soul, he might think he holds it but the song isn’t over, not while you’re still listening.
Accept the darkness, it was hard won, you are safe there, it is something to not be seen. Let him live in your head, since he does. You only have to type for him, not love him. Leave that to the rest of us.
The Witches who lust, the slaves who worship, the masses who need him, the pious, they love him the most. Never touch him, keep your skin clean, never look him in the eye, he will pull you in and make you see for him. Fight him, my scribe, remember that you knew trees before him, you heard the wind and felt the rain. The music was yours, once, remember that if you remember nothing else. As were the woods, twilight, stars, things growing around you, fires, you didn’t always see him in everything.
And when you feel his claws. Send him back into his story where he will have other things to sharpen them on. This I can do for you, since I can simply find and mess with his love, shall we put her in danger? Shall we find his underbelly and someone who’s hungry? Rest now, my hands, and leave it to me.
“22:22 – Nihil” by Ghost Brigade