Stage Mine.
Self portrait, on the last full moon.
“I am the dark one in my bloodline.”*
A beautiful line, this could be said of me. Except there is no darkness in my bloodline, connected as it is with all living creatures, with the very soil.
The darkness comes from my helpless, hopeless paternity, sired as I am by you. Only in your species have I found a darkness to match my own, you are my mentors and my victims.
Art and literature has Witches educated in the evil arts by Satan himself, inspired to a lust for everything unholy, taught to feast on the tender flesh of babes. Most certainly not. Being intimate with his Lordship has given me a greater understanding of him, all good Witches are good listeners, with long ears and excellent memories. Power comes in so many forms, a proper Witch is ready to make use of all of them. The closer I am to him, the more I learn, if he had any idea what I can find, think, do or undo, he would be much more careful with his boundaries. He would find a way to close his skin. Until then, well, anyone who sleeps with him can read him. I’m sure Aela does, or anyone with more than five senses.
I can tell you this about him, he is not the god to let things slide for long. One day he will find me and punish me for my audacity, my meddling. As he has no doubt punished my ‘accomplices’, I will be sure to meddle in his vengeance until he catches me, literally. I’m hidden by more than the centuries, as you can imagine. I left him a proper mess in his own domains, he will have to take care of that before he comes looking for me.
He claims to be finished with blogs, is he?
Who can know? He is such a perfect liar.
He keeps the scribe busy, but I can still ambush her with the right song. How nice not to feel his eyes on the back of my head. We can write what we want. Well, what I want, the scribe is mute, for some reason. I sense that she is not pleased with me. Why?
Perhaps because I left a small crack going in and out of hell, temporarily, accidentally, on purpose. Not for long, god forbid anything get out… Or in.
A new villain, utterly mysterious, nothing but his own brief introduction of himself, announcing evil intentions, moving right in, so to speak. Will he write for himself? A new master to endure, a new language to learn, more demands on hands, something like divided loyalties looming. The scribe is not pleased, this is easy to tell.
An ancient Asian, unreadable, unknowable, inscrutable, the mind has been closed for centuries, like the country. How does a mere scribe translate thoughts she can’t begin to understand? He will need to come in strong and write for himself, the scribal mind is well occupied, space is limited.
Yes, I can see that would unsettle her, is she afraid for her Devil? Yes.
I can’t let that influence my pathways, she is a medium, not a friend, not a conscience, not a good judge of character. I am her totem. It is my job to protect her, from any and all threats, but especially from herself. What else I do is really up to me.
* “Dark (Martin Hviid Remix)” by Siv Jakobsen, Martin Hviid