[Requiem - Eve] May 12th, 2008 - Faith
The beast crouched on dirt soaked with vitae and ash. The dried crimson essence coated her mouth and throat, crackling along her corpse-like skin. Eve bowed her head low and clutched her breast, the deep diamond shaped wound still prominent over her heart. Through blood and strife we are one.
The ritual had moved her, stirred the pit of her soul. She had been called to Black Crone, hers a life of sacrifice, service, and solitude. The creature recalled the words she had spoken before entrusting her existence to the Goddess. She remembered slicing her chest and removing the sacred organ. Eve had accepted that she would cease to be. She was prepared for the ultimate sacrifice, and none would deter her from giving such to Her.
What she could not understand, could not quantify, was that she was still here. Eve uttered the words that her mind did not say. They rolled across her tongue from a voice beyond; Her voice; Her hand gripping the undead heart; Her will forcing the drum of one...two...three beats.
Eve, the beast, the creature, the ender, the Crone... had been reborn. She felt the sting of the wound still fresh and was reminded of her place. I am yours, Old One. Do unto me as you will.
She raised her head and stared across the battlefield, if it could even be called such. It had been nothing more than a slaughter, but She had desired it, and Her servant would return every lamb to Her bosom. May you find them worthy of another turn.
The beast stood and hefted her arms skyward in offering. I am warrior of your Coven, defender of your flock, culler of your gardens' weeds. I am created and destroyed by your power. I am nothing but what you have made. I am nothing.
Eve shifted, her bones cracking and skin curdling inwards. Though, it was not the raven of old that emerged, but the carrion crow of ancient past. The Stormcrow, reborn once more.
The ritual had moved her, stirred the pit of her soul. She had been called to Black Crone, hers a life of sacrifice, service, and solitude. The creature recalled the words she had spoken before entrusting her existence to the Goddess. She remembered slicing her chest and removing the sacred organ. Eve had accepted that she would cease to be. She was prepared for the ultimate sacrifice, and none would deter her from giving such to Her.
What she could not understand, could not quantify, was that she was still here. Eve uttered the words that her mind did not say. They rolled across her tongue from a voice beyond; Her voice; Her hand gripping the undead heart; Her will forcing the drum of one...two...three beats.
Eve, the beast, the creature, the ender, the Crone... had been reborn. She felt the sting of the wound still fresh and was reminded of her place. I am yours, Old One. Do unto me as you will.
She raised her head and stared across the battlefield, if it could even be called such. It had been nothing more than a slaughter, but She had desired it, and Her servant would return every lamb to Her bosom. May you find them worthy of another turn.
The beast stood and hefted her arms skyward in offering. I am warrior of your Coven, defender of your flock, culler of your gardens' weeds. I am created and destroyed by your power. I am nothing but what you have made. I am nothing.
Eve shifted, her bones cracking and skin curdling inwards. Though, it was not the raven of old that emerged, but the carrion crow of ancient past. The Stormcrow, reborn once more.