The Serpent Under It
The white marble is cool under my feet, the breeze through the floor-ceiling window cooler.
The damp, rumpled silk beckons me back.
But I stand - exposed, powerless, tied without binds.
The wand before me buzzes with power – dark, audacious, unashamed –Hawthorn with unicorn core.
I can almost see the curses cackling and taunting me from the invisible cracks in the smooth wood.
Arms come to wrap me from behind, like I’m not trapped enough already.
“How many today?” I ask conversationally, tracing the five familiar inky digit on skin pale as snow, bending along with the tightening muscles – 8 10 16.
“As many as I must,” comes the brazen reply with a tender kiss to my bare shoulder.
And I finally allow my eyes to settle on the grotesque snake just below the numbers of my name. This is where I belong.
I look up into clear pale eyes staring back heavily. Sometimes it feels I am the only thing that has any colour at all in this washed out world.
So light I can see my green in them. “Must you?” I ask for the nth time.
He kisses me quiet for the nth time and I kiss him back just as softly. I can’t help it. I don’t want to.
This is where I belong.