sitting kneeling before God. His eyes have been removed taken. I am content unhappy.
Devin Unveil yourself to me, so that judgment may be passed upon the wicked and the righteous.” His voice booms in a quiet tone and I keep my head down, shame coating my face in a veil. I dare not lift my eyes else He might see the imperfections that drape from my sunken face.
Devin Look at me, my Child.”
I lift my face and eyes that gleam red in a pigment unknown to God cause Him to shudder and stand, turning his back upon me. I reach out and notice for the first time since my abominable conception the gaunt and ghastly nature of my skin, grey and scaled like a serpent. I realize I am a serpent, striking out at my Lord for reasons unknown to me, though I would search the cosmos a thousand times for the answer.
“You are lost!” A stake is driven through God’s heart and His blood explodes upon me, feeding an insatiable desire I have to destroy the only thing I believe to be beautiful. My hands, still forlorn and abhorrent, drip with the blood of divinity and I can feel a shudder, as from a whispered word, resound throughout the heavens. God is dead.
She stands in his place, a regal look about her Medusan features; fingernails like claws, teeth like daggers, and eyes like fire, she commands my soul with a presence and absolution I can only wish for. I stand to greet her, my Goddess and ruler, and in a voice that grates and grinds, rocky and chthonian, she commands “kneel!”
“You are mine, eternal. Question me, and you will kill your family
once more brutally.” I resist. I stand. I question and shout at her.
Von Hayek!” Her true name, I know her true name; what is it? Is it Von Hayek no, why can’t I remember? “Why can’t I remember!”
I am locked in a room, my wife and child before me. They beg me not to. I
can’t must. I lift her into the air and tear her throat out. I bash my child into the fireplace. They burn to death before me. I am locked in a room, my wife and child before me. They beg me not to…
I am trapped in this room for one hundred years and more. I claw at my coffin, my sarcophagus; my prison. My only solace is that
when I awaken if I awaken, Elena’s bond will be cut.
One day, I think to myself as I rip my wife’s throat apart the three hundred thousand, two hundred and seventh time, one day you will be Elena, and I will enjoy this memory, rather than hate it.