You flicker. I cannot touch you. I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns—
Sylvia Plath, excerpt of Poppies in July (via antigonick)
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@firstbrood-blog
You flicker. I cannot touch you. I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns—
Sylvia Plath, excerpt of Poppies in July (via antigonick)
All people are driven to the point of eating their gods, after a time.
Margaret Atwood, excerpt from Eating Snake (via kvngslayer)
https://www.instagram.com/p/BLX67KHDbWh/
‘ I’ll have no wings that take me away from you. ’
the vampire armand starters
“never.” turned soft for only but a few —- she was most vulnerable for her jesse. daughter of heart, daughter of mind, daughter of blood. their cursed existence was defined by the depth of that which they felt. the despair and stunning loneliness. the rage. the hopelessness. but it was the love that was most lethal. the one thing to render even the most powerful of their brood to a simple, inexplicable nothingness. “you are the thing i hold most dear. i still regret ever attempting to turn you away from me.” a finger draws across the smooth pallor of jessica’s cheek, fondness twisting her unchanging face to something almost human. “any devil that would dare to steal you from me would meet a swift and utter death. we are family, eternally.”
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‘ Oh, I see, so that excuses it, that you followed me here? ’ (for whichever twin wants to speak up)
the vampire armand starters
“excuses are for those who have done something wrong. we have no need to excuse ourselves.” the words traveled —- from the mind of mekare to the mouth of maharet. godhead and mouthpiece of the damned: survivors of the millennia six times over. maharet moved like a sheathed blade, her steps a wicked silence within the room. stone did not give. stone did not breath. “we were both witches once as well. we communed with the spirits, the same as you do now.” her words bore the slightest lilt of an accent long dissipated. there was no movement between the three of them for a time, save for the pulse and ragged breathing of the a mortal in a room of statues. it was the new Mother whose voice rang out. take a seat, pasha. we have much to discuss.
‘ Oh, little stars, how much I’ve hated you and envied you. ’ ‘ You are young and tender and open like the moonflower to take the light of the night. ’ ‘ Do it! Do it! Do it! ’ ‘ Each being succumbs to an essential set of values. ’ ‘ Life is a tragedy one way or another. what is certain is that you DIE. ’ ‘ To heaven! To heaven that would not have you and might never. ’ ‘ You never know the palette of the one you kill until the mind disgorges its finest colors. ’ ‘ LOVE. I heard the sound of it. I saw it. ’ ‘ Yes, I am afraid of you, a little, but then terribly curious too. ’ ‘ Oh, I see, so that excuses it, that you followed me here? ’ ‘ You are so clever and deceiving. ’ ‘ I’m deranged. My senses cross, like so many threads to make a knot: taste, see, smell, feel. ’ ‘ Well, Sir, that is a form of yielding, to give myself up to you, your will and your power…. ’ ‘ Not made by human hands. ’ ‘ In the very depths of hell, do not demons love one another? ’ ‘ We can’t stand it, to be alone. We can’t bear it! ’ ‘ Whoever He may be - He made us, did He not, because even He in his infinite perfection could not bear to be ALONE. ’ ‘ Once again, I retreated into my deepest mental hiding place. ’ ‘ Sweet to think on it, that when we are at last weary of this world, there is the rising sun. ’ ‘ Red and red and red. It was his color, he told me, as blue was to be mine. ’ ‘ There’s a distinction in being murdered. ’ ‘ If I offended, hit me, beat me, DO ANYTHING to me but don’t turn away. Don’t cover your eyes that would look on me! ’ ‘ If I am an angel, paint me with black wings. ’ ‘ Everyone would ravage a guilty, cunning child! ’ ‘ Everyone would have a laughing boy who knows his way around the block! ’ ‘ I was born in a place of eternal winter when one compares it to this place. ’ ‘ Life is no longer a theatrical stage where Banquo’s ghost comes again and again to seat himself at the grim table. ’ ‘ I love you, but now I must be alone… ’ ‘ What power under God is there that can break me? ’ ‘ It is forbidden for us to walk in the places of light. ’ ‘ I’ll have no wings that take me away from you. ’ ‘ We are as the bees that sting, and the rats that steal the grain; We are as The Black Death come to take young or old, beautiful or ugly. ’ ‘ There is no good that is founded in suffering and cruelty. ’ ‘ His patience for me is no substitute for the passion which long ago blazed in his eyes. ’ ‘ Dear God, why did anyone love me? What for? ’
Guess what. You're good at it.
Your pride is going to get you killed.
* @sybellesilk gets mamaret
“Sybelle, is it not?” of course, she knew it was. maharet was aware of them all the as soon as their existences were spliced together: she knew this young one at the moment of her conception, when marius de romanus gave her the Gift in all her wide-eyed, pale-haired madness. her rebirth was felt as violently as any real birth, once more a splash of red on her primeval soul. sybelle was young, made mere decades ago ---- still with an infant’s softness to her skin. it gave where touched. a faint blush of youth was apparent through borrowed eyes. “will you allow me in?”
* @khedam a lil somethin’
the sensation of observing eyes stopped the scratch of her pen against parchment. there was no give to the stone mind that lingered in the doorway, granting the conclusion that it must be either her sister or khayman whose eyes burned upon her flesh. the last of the first brood, together once more. centuries later ------- after she walked the walked the earth, never sleeping, always seeking. never to find. until now, in the new world, speaking the old tongue. she tossed the thick of her hair over one shoulder, questioning smile bringing forth a ghost of humanity to her marble lips. “does something addle you, khayman?”
Caravaggio, Michelangelo Merisi Da. Young Sick Bacchus. Detail. 1593. Oil on canvas. Galleria Borghese, Rome, Italy.
Details @ Blumarine F/W 2013