#charet

[vasiliquemort]

Secundan Gothic

Chapter II: Nestings

That night - swallowed up by the shadows and the cold of the crypt, my flesh gained incarnation - by the will of the human and the damned, and this was my great grief, something alien and wrong, to which I pulled back and felt heaviness every moment. My mind still wandered, restless and immense, nd yet a feeling of strange understanding froze in me - constancy and order in the chaos of my nature, and this was my knowledge, my dignity. I was submissive in my own way, soft and unstable by myself in the world of snows - such a stranger to a hot and moving Abyss.

I woke up, then - alone and at peace this time, and the hum in my body was deafening - but something familiar began to appear in this, in the way blood and air move, it was a song of materiality and humanity, and I began to know it again. Again - like my Odal, like this place, and in this feeling I tried to find humility - humility and peace in a hungry and dangerous time.

------------

I felt suddenly small and nude. He was sitting here - a full cup, and there was not a single flaw in him, beautiful and perfect in all and everything, and the logos inside me sang along with himself.

Charet - this was the name of my master, seemed like a ghost in this skeleton, in this semblance of a house - he was so gentle and meek in his physical incarnation, imperfect and discordant, like my own, and in this I felt kinship, unity. He sat at an empty and naught table - the lord of pleasure and satiety, and there was so much wrongness in that.

- Come here, Yafe. There is nothing here that could please and satisfy you, except for me - but I can be your full cup when you need it. Your... ancestors take care of other things - I've decided to spare them my company.

Once, when I was humane and sane, when I did not carry his essence through me into this world - so that now he has become embodied, that he discredits and perverts him from the inside, then I would have been horrified, I would not have allowed myself to be so docile, and soft, and desirous. And now I moved gently and submissively, guided by the light of his flesh - my hands touched him, soft and hard, and my lips rustled over rough skin as a sign of my love, as a sign of my knowledge. And then I was again struck by shame, misunderstanding, resentment.

- I shouldn't be here.

Charet brushed the hair off my forehead—I hadn't bothered to clean myself up.

- Indeed? You are where I want you to be - if you were dutiful to me, you would not resist my will. And if you were yourself, you would still stay here, away from me.

- How could I desire such thing - desire our separation..

And he recoiled at the same moment - once he loved me, once he saw in me completeness and perfection, I was beautiful and desired by those who are the personification of these words. Now I am a stranger to him - perverted and broken by his nature.

"Broken", "Perverted"? Where do these words come from? It's not me.

- I was your torment, beloved. I was your worst nightmare - how rebellious and restless you were, how strong and perfect and never mine. I created you, spoke out of myself not for my own pleasure - no matter how strong my love is, for me you are always separation, always confrontation and war, because this is your verity.

Oh, and now you don't like me? Now, when all the past is destroyed, when I am the worm of your will, now you refuse me. Anger swirled in me - I tried to put it out, and it only flared up stronger, and the distance between us grew, multiplied and became heavier.

- Am I no longer sweet to you?

It pissed him off, I see and feel it - and at that moment I felt revenge, and satisfaction, and these feelings were brighter, more piercing than anything that was before. It was like a breath of fresh air, like a cold stream, and it was good.

- Listen me, you, creature..

It was as if he was looking through me - my face caused him torment, my existence was a disgrace to his nature. Inferior in his halls, lifeless here, among mortals—everything was wrong and vile, and I would have been ready to strike him if I had even a drop of violence in me. It was - but of a completely different kind, and I fearlessly clung to him, my face in a small fraction of his own - I looked with faded eyes into full flames, and I let him drink, revel in my bitterness.

- Now you want to leave me here? Degenerate of your flesh, blood of your ugly soul, a reminder of how you perverted my family, now you want to get rid of the reminder of me? And all because I accepted you, because I succumbed to your power? Do you want war, Charet, do you want my pain? Why is it never enough for you?

His face flushed - it seemed that he was ready to kiss me right now, but I pulled away on purpose, spitting to the side in the presence of the damned one. I was full, I was... Alive.

- If you don't want me, then leave me alone.

Bitterness froze in my throat, I was angry and desperate, and alone in my torment - how could I expect anything else from the mother of lies, from the father of all incubi? In the end, this was my place in his design - a reflection of the will, which changed with moments, like a lover's stone changes under the rays of light.

The touch on my hand burned - I tried to pull it away, but the grip was leaden, and he pinned me, kicking and angry like a dog, and his breath began to dance in the same way - as if he was holding it, and now - released in relief.

- Why, if we can still fix everything? I stayed here, next to you, because this is the most secret of my desires.

He plays with me - he always jumps from cold to heat, from tenderness to cruelty, and I want to strangle him, just so as not to let me be molded into a fool of his pleasures.

- I spoke you - just like then, because this is your place. It is given to you to be rebellious and cruel, to bring pain and passion to the islands - we have centuries of fulfillment ahead of us, and you will only be fuller, only more beautiful. It's all the little things, my treasure, my dragon.

His voice was deep and rumbling, and he squeezed the hand that tried to scratch out his eyes, deceptively tenderly, as if dragging me into an embrace, and I wanted to gobble his face. I had no strength to look at him, I had never experienced such strong resentment, such powerful humiliation.

"Leave me alone," I repeated.

- Never, my Judith. You and I are one, you and I are a two-headed snake, and there are no lovers who would know each other more fully and deeper than we, my beautiful.

The kiss was snappy and quick - and then he let me go at last, laughing loud and full, but when I threw the cup at him in a last attempt to defend my dignity, his figure crumbled already into dust. I was alone. I was mad and feverish and empty and full and I went absolutely mad - so long ago and so carefully and deliberately, and yet I was myself - my nature was stable, leaden core inside, unbending and heavy. This is a heavy load - character and consciousness, and priceless one, too.

I was mournful. I was deranged. The house was alien, and empty, and cold, and I had to find kin right away

[juliada321]

Dragonfly

The sound of the wind

That echos through the wings

A fly that doesn't breathe fire

Wings that are as thin as paper

Dragonfly lost in water

Living in such a short life

But free to be where it wants to be

Dragonfly that can be preyed.

Like all living things,

Die and wither in time.

[nixxxxsposts]

:Ahasin mo na,, sa'yo naman yun talaga eh.

:Ayoko mang ahas ng taong nagpa ahas.

[vasiliquemort]

Teivas

A small (tiiiny) glance at the early part of the future project - I did not feel the pleasures and benefits for which I had hoped for so many months for our last book, and from my heart I decided that it makes sense to make a continuation of something completely different.

On the other hand, there are more mistakes and burdens here - since completely new sides are being studied, which have never been touched upon, but this has a wonderful feeling of freshness, clarity of pure reason - and a story that is much longer and with a bottom at times deeper, such as could be turned into something else.

I do not, of course, make any hopes and promises - in my current state and complete confusion about the future, this is impossible, but for now I can lose myself somewhere, and splash my self at least a little.

[vasiliquemort]

Nimroden Triade

I... had a small outcome, perhaps a new turn of the wheel in the perception of forms, sensitivity and faces - it seems to me that I am blind to them, but I found a way to see at least in parts. Two more covenants were accomplished - and their master now looks different, too, to match both new house and my vision.

Edwardis, as always... Makes me swoon - on the new part, I tried to work out more clearly the relevance and theme of their vestments, and now the owner of the house is dressed in something between the Anglo-Saxon and Nordic tonality.

Takhisis is complex, but I tried to draw her according to my own mother - at the same time, the matriarch of the family personalizes Charet more than ever - I wonder why?;)

With the snake itself, no dramatic changes have arisen since the last time - the same Israeli-Ottoman tones, but his face differs for me over and over again, features jump from one side of the spectrum, then to the other - feminine and masculine, sharp and sensual, full and subtle, and I reassure myself that this is the whole of Charet, and this is peculiar to him - I can only endure.

[vasiliquemort]

Secundan Gothic

Chapter I: Ouroboros

It was alike to a falling - the power of the earth is immense and painful, and it pulls down, down to the bottom of essentiality, to the bottom of the universe. And the abyss - a lost, black place of timelessness and variability, and there was only this - dances of fevers, the movement of the flesh as a single organism, the coexistence of pain and pleasure in terms of our unlife, yet the most primitive of all. It was the world of the Logos, the world of desires - that was all my mind could reach, and my flesh moved with the rest of us.

It is our breathing, and we are flesh, and we are connected by blood flowing among, like a children in the womb - and this is the worst act of violence of all. To be conceived, to be nurtured by him - the master of our selfhood, the lord of everything that blind serpent eyes touched. I was one of my thousands of brothers and sisters, and I wasn't alike to any of them - but I was the same serpent among them, devoured and was devoured, and in this act was our knowledge - the mysteries of the universe and the primary nature of the Logos.

I had no face, my mind flowed and moved along with the waves of smells and blood, and the flesh - immense, boundless, was connected with everyone else. The abyss was a terrible place. The abyss was my womb - but also the end point of what once was. Formation was waiting for me, liberation from primacy - when my flesh was fed up, when separation awaited us.

The separation did not come. I felt our master - within me, just as I myself was nurtured by him, but still the end of his burden did not come. My place was here, I managed to know the depth - but my knowledge was interrupted.

Solemn rite has begun.

First came an indescribable heaviness - the heaviness of human flesh. Khaan was empty. I wanted to pull off the skin like a suffocating veil. There was nothing human in me, nothing rational - my whole being hung then, in the timelessness and absoluteness of the physical domain, where everything was one, and now the cold was waiting for me - separation was waiting. It was terrible to be empty - not filled with life-giving khaan, it was terrible to be alone - a being of only one voice. Being, not just flesh.

Hands touched me - cold and alien, but familiar for some reason, somewhere there, before my birth, before my nature. Where they moved, I felt existence—as if my limbs had overcome the numbness, and there was too much and too little at the same time. I felt the flesh pressing harder and harder - unnaturally, the lungs opened like a butterfly, the cold of the air burned both inside and out, I felt the movement of blood - and the thrill of everything that is humane and physical, the flesh was clear to me - and almost forgotten.

Their words sounded too loud, too bright, one - rustling and sharp, the other - melodious and heavy, and from how it cut my head from fullness everything buzzed and hurt, I could speak only with tongues of fire - I did not know any of others. Both heat and cold beat me, my mind moved in a spiral yet could not find a way out - and then I sighed, as if emerging from the water column, and clarity came to me - sharp-cold, like the frosty air of this earth. Nimrode.

Once I was called by this name - the name of the clan, in the tomb of which I ended up. My voice was low - there was a cry of pain in it, distorted and inhuman, and realizing it, I calmed down, frozen in the movement of the mind - thoughts poured cold water on my damned head. My hand, heavy and irregular, reached out to my mouth, where it froze in mute horror, and bile danced in my throat. I opened my eyes - nothing protected me from the candles of the tomb, gloomy and dark - but so far away, too spacious, and I covered my face with my hands - curled up I lay on my side and breathed deeply and heavily - the ribs buzzed, pressed on my nature from all parts. Beneath me was a silky, wet khaan. They fed my god with it, they conceived me again. I was not filled, my knowledge was not completed, and with it, my “I” did not fall into its place. Everything was wrong, everything was horror-filling and cruel, and existence was a nightmarish burden for which I was not ready.

I didn't want that, not then, not now. I know that I was desired - always, always, always, but the nature of the world every time turned out to be cruel - anger, resentment, misunderstanding swirled in me, because just now I was in silence, in peace and eternity - but they dared to refuse me, as and then, at the very beginning. They called out to my god, the king of my darkness, once again, just like on the day of my birth - and he did not refuse them, but why? Then they offered me to him, and during my life he took possession of me - why did he return me back to the bosom of the family, to the bosom of man?

There was a buzzing in my head, there was lead in my throat, and everything burned, burned, burned with a grave cold, my whole body - a single bend, a ligament, compressed to the limit, and the pain was unbearable - but such that comes along with existence. I couldn't stand the interference - the movement made me dizzy, my mind churned over and over again, and I couldn't contain myself - but I sat up no matter what. The cold was sepulchral, ​​the pain was humane, and sitting now I curled up into a ball again, because the weight of the flesh was grand. Lungs torn, and it seems that tears flowed silently - the grief for the lost was great, but it brought the end of their own. Nimrode. Nimrode. People of blackness and sympathy, people of my blood, sorcerous and perverted.

The figures were as black as their essence - and all of them were, like me, the ghosts of distant centuries, carriers of the outcome of their nature - the images of alien nature, drunk to the last, the blood of antiquity. But they were incorporeal, their nature was empty, and mine was full, tangible, true. In their eyes I saw the horror of existence, the cold-bloodedness of those who crossed the Boundary - but I am not a mortal and their essence is indifferent to me, empty.

I am no longer Nimrode. They have no right to me. I am subject only to the flame, only to the gentle hand of my master - and now I was alone, empty, withered, cold and abandoned by his grace, and this was my worst nightmare.

But there were two figures here - full and warm, but only reflections of those to whom they were now blind. In them, I saw those who committed violence against me - one clutched a dagger soaked in blood, the hands of the other were stained with it to the very elbow, and they looked at me in disbelief - frantically and God-fearing, as if they did not know whether I was familiar to them or not. I didn’t have the strength to say a word - the words from their lips, interrogative and frightened, were alien and empty, and then I was angry, and disappointed, and broken, and through the bars of my fingers I peered angrily at their faces.

The face of the woman standing in front of me - the priestess of the black hand, the witch, the conductor of the gloomy will, was familiar to those who surrounded us in this grave, and incommensurable pain and despair swirled in her, the weakness and distortion of the feverish mind - sympathy for her was absolute in me , deep and heavy, and I turned away from her so as not to experience this bitterness. The man - tall, strangely, unfamiliarly handsome, haggard and aged, seemed like a huge bird of prey - and his figure was so dangerous and sharp, but in my eyes this kite was softer than a sparrow, more sensitive than a sacrificial dove. Everything was wrong, cold and pointless - and violent, cruel and disorderly.

And then I was warmed up. I was filled with heat - behind them the king had beautiful eyes, a shepherd among the lilies - sharp and painful, dying in rebirth, I reached out to him, and his hands were tender, calling and affectionate. He was the only thing I knew, the only thing I needed in my life - suddenly his lips touched mine with a kiss, and I choked on the iron of blood, the passion of the khaan, which he gave me - then everything became clear and bright, like a dawn on ours, such terrible and unchanging, the north. He gave me life again - where my ancestors were incapable of this, and my mother and father froze in his presence, anticipating - but walking blindly to his will, and when I choked and my consciousness finally faded, I understood only their breath - frightened and dimensionless.

[vasiliquemort]

*runs excitedly*

*clears throat*

@sandpixieden

I. Am. So happy that you said that!

It's not only the title of the song by Light in Babylon - from Hebrew it means "Thou art beautiful" and the text is actually the Song of Songs of Solomon (and I am having a *tender* connection to it) in ancient Hebrew.

I often use lines from this poetry in some works, and even in Secunda - for example, Arkes quotes them to the Archon during their first meeting to emphasize belonging to the cult of Desires.

Because I associate this poetry with Charet deeply and firmly - a part of the Old Testament dedicated to love as a religious experience. This is not just romantic / allegorical lyrics - but to some extent pure eroticism.

While the historical / cultural origin of most of the characters was immediately clear to me (Takhisis is a Lithuanian, Edwardis is a Dane, Titian and Rakhyl are Georgians mixed with Greeks, Margot is Ukrainian, Holt is from northern Russia, and Arkes is Persian), the origin of Charet was difficult - there are Babylonian, Byzantine and Persian, and - so far away, the Baltic origins, but closer now I prescribe the Israeli one for them.

The most personal thing for me is that I listened to the song a long time ago and it was special for me, and after a few years - without realizing that it was the same text in different languages, I was absorbed in the Song of Solomon. Not long before writing that scene in Secunda, I started translating - and, well, I got electrocuted, as if I had met a long-forgotten friend.

Arkes:

- You are beautiful.

- As an apple tree is among forest trees, so is my beloved among young men. In its shade I love to sit, and its fruits are sweet to my throat.

Archon:

- He brought me into the house of the feast, and his banner over me is love.

The words of the anthem - a poem, escaped against my will, but they were too intimate to remain silent - especially for me.

The bearer of this hymn.

The bearer of.. Logos, and when my hand pressed against the exhausted interior of my self-flesh, the human eyes did not ignore this - and their face brightened, and their eyes - black cherries, became even darker.

They were special. They knew the words, the right words - songs of Charet, countless, but full of passion, desires, and love, and they are all a mystery, and the knowledge of something secret, devilish and godlike, like love itself.

The man, imposing and soft, suddenly came to life - they laughed softly and affectionately, then pressed their hand to their cheek, and then turned away, taking the bottle in delicate hands.

[vasiliquemort]

Masters and Possessions

But which one is who?

I wasn't so sure about these parts - but time is short and there are so many works, and the lion's share of these concerns are unborn and still in the darkness of my self - so here is something that I will share today. These are just small developments, details that need to be brought into the mind - and then dilute the narrative with these little things.

A small personification of our selfhood in the mask of Anavutlar, in a figure wrapped in black cotton - under it is a creature of hunger and delight, the primitive passion and grace of ouroboros in the slender form of flameless flesh. Next to them - a pet and a lord in one guise, light, milky scales changed to coal - at the behest of the heart of their Khaan, the velvet of their soul in the name of the mare.