Her embrace awaited him at the end of the journey.
He had been walking for God-knew how long, wandering in a fathomless darkness in search of something even he himself could not put a name to. A mute voice whispered in his head, gently, sweetly urging him to move on, to find it, to embrace it, to love it. Lost, he had no other choice but to lay his faith on that voice. Even when his bare feet hardened and bled, he had to find it. Even when his eyes no longer saw anything aside from blackness, he had to find it. Even when his heart ceased its beats, he knew he would not rest until he found it.
“What is it?”, he asked the voice in head, unsure whether he would get a reply. It was fine. The only thing he needed was to hear his own voice, to assure himself that he was not yet dead.
“When you see it you’ll know.” Its answer startled him.
“What if I don’t know?”. He pressed on.
“What if I don’t?”. He repeated, yelling.
Only his voice echoed. He gave up and carried on. With bitterness in his heart.
This tedious journey which seemed to drag on toward an endless destination brought him nothing but sufferings and a terrible exhaustion.
Many times he considered giving up. Many times he pulled himself to his feet and continued.
The light at the end was burning madly into his tired eyes, blinding him with a desperate relief. With his feet still bleeding he rushed into it.
He found her embrace in the light. Her awaiting embrace. Her loving embrace. Her tempting embrace.
So anxious to end this journey that he waited not a second to submit himself to her.
The voice in his head remained silent.
A maiden’s embrace was warm and soft; hers was hard and cold. Her façade appeared gentle and fair; only once inside did he see her for what she truly was.
Her steel arms hugged around his form so tightly that it was suffocating. From her bosoms protruded several spikes. His flesh was penetrated. His lungs were torn. His heart was punctured. When she looked at him with her jewel eyes, his eyes were pierced by her thorny gaze. When she gave him her maiden’s kiss, even his lips and tongue were needled.
His blood brought life-warmth to steel-cold flesh. Softly, sweetly, the maiden whispered into his ears, over and over again.
“I love you.”
Many times he doubted. Many times he asked the voice in his head if she was what he should have found.
Its only reply was: “You judge.”
Thus he judged.
Her affection was fatal. Her love was strangling.
Though her arms tore his flesh, they shielded him from the savage winds that ravaged his worn being. Though she made his feet bleed, they no longer got tired from the tedious road he had walked. Though she gave him greater agonies than he could endure, pains made him more alive than ever. Before, his existence was a flickering candle waiting to burn out; caged in her embrace, he was a torch at its brightest blaze.
He would rather have her than have none.
Inspired by the iron maiden (a torture device)