There is something about her that imparts chivalry in the most unlikely of men. It is a rare occasion, if there are men around, for her to open a door for herself. She can feel eyes upon her when she walks, she is aware that her grace is alluring, she understands the response this can elicit and is careful to remain strong and guarded lest the eyes decide more can be taken. If her submission had a scent it would be musty with sex, laden with sensuality and irresistible. She knows the men who observe her with obvious desire are mostly unaware of what this scent, this subtle difference that appeals to them is. She waits patiently for the day that she feels the eyes upon her that recognise her very spirit and understand the need that burns within. When this day comes, and she raises her eyes to meet those upon her, she knows she will have found the one who can tame her, force her submission and give her that which she deeply needs. She knows when she meets those eyes she will have found her Master.
I see you here Arachne, day after day, your clever fingers toiling at the loom weaving beautiful music from common thread. Your hands, like tiny birds plucking at the loom strings, birthing your stories; warning of the gods and their false tongues, they would have your tongue as your craft is divine. Worthy of their praise, yet defiant, you weave with human eyes. I see your brilliant soul Arachne; it shimmers within you, shimmers right to the surface of your luminous skin. I would have your clever fingers weave of my skin that I could feel the song of your mortal soul, so full of life and artistry. I would taste of your blasphemous tongue, is it as sweet as one that honours the gods? Or is it bittered by your wroth? Stay your quick fingers a moment bitter-sweet Arachne, look upon me as I disrobe you with my guile, what words will tempt you to turn from task and share a cup of wine? I would watch your sweet mouth taste of cup I pour for you, come Arachne, and reach with your clever fingers for mine. Let us lay a while in this glorious grotto, nest of creative spirit, let my thunder enter you, I long to see your soul shudder in ecstasy, let us weave a story of love for you to retell with your craft.
Insistent the old man woke me, night upon night he shook me from dreams leaving dark taste in my mouth. He was death yet alive, power roared within him, fear closed my ears to him and my eyes could not see him. Yet last night his voice reached me, stirred me from fear, his face, not death but potent life. Like kindly father he offered rough hand, hand in hand with ancient Ash, I walked into the night. All earthly sound retreated as we walked, the stars lighting a path beneath feet. His words echoed through my being, lyrical cadence calling me to path, a song of memory to light my way. He spoke to my blood least I forget and in final speech he uttered; ‘Not alone my girl’ as he leveled his eye upon mine and laid kiss on my brow. A single sound approached, beneath his words, through my thoughts, he smiled when he saw I heard it; pounding like drum, yet too quiet for human ear, pulse of thunder compressed within form. My eyes widened as recognition arrived, words tumbling forth from mind, ‘his beating heart’, my wise father did smile returning me to dream, awoken.
I dreamt of her spires last night, the gleaming beauty masking the terror and oppression housed within. A city, now forgotten, swallowed by hungry jungle eager to devour the cruel Titan who had ruled with hateful heart. Spires dressed in gold ripped from the earths womb by fear filled citizens bent on completion lest the masters wroth be stirred. Where slave market once stood jaguar pads softly scenting the air in search of mate. The earth rumbled her warnings shaking the mine to prohibit his incessant gluttony. But he took no heed, instead executing all survivors as guilty of the ruin. Life was cheap and the loss of his entertainment. The execution square, built of pain and fear, now houses a bower of strange dark orchids. Such a terrifying man, all cowered beneath his ruthlessness, but pestilence did not; disease struck him and all with evil hearts within the city. The survivors fled the cursed ground taking with them their blessed lives as they sought holier ground. The cities name lost in history as the minds of those that lived erased terrible memory of the beast that had ruled them; building a rotten empire from the blood of their sacrifice. Stars, once blackened by acrid smoke of burning dead flesh, now bright and clear for the ghosts of this place to gaze on and sigh softly as peace is restored to their hearts. His grand hall now home to families of cheerful monkeys, they frolic, impervious to the fading painted walls depicting his dark deeds, ignorant of the wealth in gems pouring from his rotting coffers. Spires of gold patterned with the lace of vines, gradually breaking apart this city of pain, coveted gold falling back to the earth whence it came.
Night upon night I silently dream of the gods in their heavenly home. This night, song of wonder, laden with aching sublime beauty finally tore sound of awe from throat capturing attention of he, glory of glory, unfathomable majesty, his eyes turned to mine. Irises opened to see beyond time, gift of sight blessing of his omnipotent gaze. Seeing my eyes, open, unwavering as I fearlessly accept his gift, knowing that I hear the music of the spheres, he calls for me to join their feast. Gracefully accepting I am drawn effortlessly toward sky. Hair cascades around me adorned with stars, nightgown woven to threaded gown of gold, my skin illuminated from within, I become a jewel of the night. He asks me to dance a celestial turn with he, comet birthed at the joining of our hands, he sets crown wrought from Northern lights atop my glittering head and laughing dances me through the many worlds. My hearts master, my love, cannot from task stray too long and at comets return I with earth reunited yet sacred, rainbow eyed son of mine carries knowledge in his heart gifted from distant father, as I still see across worlds to kiss beloved Rígr and whisper wish to him of steadfast love and task.
Barely old enough I am obscurely allowed to take part in the evening’s festivities. Tomorrow our men go across the sea. Many will not return. I suspect this is the only reason I am welcome though nothing could keep me from this night. I know, the one whose eyes I hunger for leaves on the morrow and I know not if I will ever find those haunting hazel eyes on mine again. I serve all the warriors and shield maidens, meat and mead with a smile regardless of errant hand, easily scolded. It is clearly known among us who has eyes for whom and although this knowledge has me flushed with embarrassment tonight is not a night for such qualms. If not now, perhaps never and this is not our way.
I catch his eye; he is a little older than me yet his bravado out weighs his knowledge in war and in love but he, as I, knows this is the moment. As I fill his mead horn his eyes drink my all and I welcome it. I would welcome his errant hand but he is content to wait and the fiery smoulder between us grows. I feel the flush of passion fill my body in a way I have never felt before. I remember the first flicker of this flame, it was a few moons ago; I knew it was because I had found my kindred soul and that it meant I was becoming a woman leaving my childhood behind. How I wanted him to be mine. I wanted him to be the one to explore this feeling with me, to take me away from prying eyes and taste my lips to drink of me for this first, and perhaps last, time. As I watched him I poured this intent into my eyes and offered soft prayer to the goddesses and gods that it would be so.
Finally he moves toward me taking the mead jug and platter from my hands he placed them on the table then lifts me effortlessly into his arms. We leave the hall to a cacophony of jubilant cheering and blessings. Once outside in the cold air he looks deeply into my eyes and smiles. Lowering me to the frozen earth he brushes stray hair from my face, kisses each of my eyelids and then eyes locked to mine brings his lips to taste of me. The flame that scorched through us leaves me flushing with heat. The steam of our breath in the frigid air mingles as we gaze at each other with naked want and mutual understanding. He gathers me into his strong arms again and carries me toward his home voice raised loudly in song of gratitude to the beautiful Freyja for bringing him such a fine woman, such a fine wife.
I am in torment to my own desire. My musty scent illustrates my ripe need. Body sensitive to flicker of breeze, friction of clothing. My wicked Imagination has drawn me to a tightly coiled moment where I throb incessant with need. Firm, pliant and moist with heat I cannot sit still. Forcefully I slow my breathing allowing absorption in my daydream, ah yes, there it is the place I imagine him. The rich green forest, sounds of wildlife and the hush of nature after rain seeps into my pores. I breathe it in feeling healing and magic stir in my soul. Opening my eyes I see him, he appears to be arriving as if to meet me. I breathe a prayer of gratitude then focus my full attention on him. Masculine strength emanates from him, tempered with a deep and thoughtful mind; fierce loyalty burns within him wrapped up in a physical package that gives me butterflies. He has seen me, his thoughtful eyes taking in the whole of me, I let my soul shine it is safe here with him, I know it is. His eyes brighten and a playful smile tickles his lips as he moves towards me. He stops a good step away leaving a chaste gap between us, holding my eyes he speaks, “This is some imagination you have,” reaching for my hand he lifts it and gently kisses the back of my hand, “well met, my lady of the woods.” My hand tingles where his lips have scorched their imprint. He does not release my hand but maintains it in his hand gently stroking my palm taking my breath away and stirring more heat within me. “I told you I would wander here from time to time.” He smiles, “Then let us wander and speak of all the things we have been wanting too.” We walk hand in hand comfortable, the lilt of his voice soothing and engaging. I feel closer to home than I have in years, almost longer than I can recall. My desire retreats to a bearable level as we talk and talk. After much time has passed we stop walking he turns me toward him his eyes burn into mine, his hand moves my hair behind my ear, he pulls me to him, I cannot breathe for the passion within me as he lowers his lips to mine. Fire and ice assault my senses I reach for him before I fall. The lush magic of the forest hushes around our searing heat. The kiss of those who remember the time before time silences the world with their reunion. Harmony restored I sadly feel the pull to my own place, my daydream gone I can still taste him on my lips.
Words by errant satiety image from Deviantart taken near Laage Vuursche in the Netherlands.