Daughter of Sparta Part III

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In all the blinding ceremonious accolades my eyes alighted upon the Prince, Pleistoanax. I had never once in our adjacent lives felt he had any particular awareness of me. Given the current circumstance, I wondered if I were wrong, and if so, what had I missed? I knew his current ‘submissive’ expression of himself was not a true representation of him, having witnessed his prowess among the trainees, I knew he was unquestionably a spartan warrior endowed with all the arrogant assumption due such a one, yet he had not in his dealings with my family, or his, expressed any great leadership trait. Perhaps, he was embarrassed by his reasoning behind his decisions and behaviour? Perhaps he felt misunderstood by his family. He, as all of Sparta did, understood that his claim to the throne was not a direct genetic line and that he must prove himself worthy of the title of King to claim the title, yet he was meek in these dealings of choosing a wife, allowing his father to lead the assault against my potential, yet he was assured, he somehow knew of my newly moulded divinity and was assured of its proving. Perhaps he was meek through sheer, what? Being overcome? From desire that he thought could come to naught or newly kindled desire because of my ‘divinity’? Suddenly, this distinction became paramount to me. I would have answer, I did not fear the Lord Apollo nor any other being anymore, thus questioning a man who would be my husband that I did not yet know at all seemed both imperative and trivial in consequence.

The Lord Apollo excused himself to attend his daily duty and, as his divine sun departed the room, a darkness fell, and the elders moved to the courtyard to toast their familial joining taking with them the great portion of helots. The Prince and I were suddenly alone. As Apollo had departed so did my wings, his parting words to me were that I would learn to command them, but it would take time, I covered myself in the cloak I carried and for the first time questioned its origin. Pleistoanax seemed willing to linger and perhaps then prepared to speak. ‘My Lord,’ I ventured, and his gaze rose to me immediately, ‘I must ask, did you ever intend such an offer as you offered this bright morn?’ His face expressed all manner of emotion, impossible to read. I understood I must suffer the getting-to-know-the-man who would be my husband to comprehend his experience.

‘Lady Cymone,’ at which he inclined his head to me which I found both unnervingly distasteful and somewhat appealing, ‘I have observed you since perhaps both we understood ourselves as individual to our parents, yet, given my station and the lack, through traditional Spartan merit, of yours, I have had to refrain from declaring myself. I have been a singular observer to your sensational beauty and will, now the gods have discovered you the irony is that again to be your husband I must bear witness to… well, all that our Lord Apollo would have of you. It is not an easy cost, yet I would pay any value given my feebleness and fear compared to your, your being. I accept his claim and admit his parameters have some piercing appeal to me. Yet, had I laid claim to you, including all your supposed weaknesses we would have owned them together, but I dallied and argued within myself thus now my hand is forced, and I throw my lot in with yours as I had always intended, yet as observer still.’ This speech stilled me. I did not recall Pleistoanax had paid me any particular mind, thus I searched my memories but came up short, there were too many full of discontent observers that I sought to ignore through the devoutness of my movement in opposition to the Spartan desire for perfection of athletic movement, I moved athletically but with innovation and freewill, not limited to the choreographed Spartan dances. Perhaps, I ignored those that wished me well. ‘My Lord, I am ashamed that I missed your intentions of well-meaning, I was sorely accustomed to ill-intent and was perhaps too guarded to allow those of positive regard to be observed.’ At this the Prince smiled, in fact he was alight within as he returned his gaze to me. ‘My lady, you seem to have no idea how your movement affected those who were witness to it.’ I allowed him this, I had no immediate injunction as I had no concept of what he proposed. ‘My Lord, I believe in my surrender to the dance, I bade disservice to my fellow Spartans by misinterpreting or ignoring their responses to my expression.’ It seemed it was Pleistoanax’s turn to find no tongue. Our eyes locked and my heart thundered in my chest for what I found in his obsidian gaze, there was a fire within him that I knew kindled solely because of me. After a long moment I threw my gaze to the food and wine and invited my Prince to toast our betrothment.

With no helots in sight I moved to serve my Prince some wine discovering that the cloak I had pulled about my form was too long and hampered my movement. ‘My lady, perhaps I should call a helot to properly robe you, my cloak is an ill fit and although I believe you are graceful and becoming in any attire, you may be more comfortable in your own.’ I was momentarily shocked, then realised that Apollo had said Pleistoanax understood the conditions he had imparted, the Prince himself had acknowledged them. ‘My Lord, you were witness to what passed in the grove?’ He nodded and moved to serve himself wine and refresh my own. I understood my astonishment was ludicrous, but much had passed in the past day. As Pleistonanax held out my glass of wine to me I realised we should properly salute our new state before I pressed for further knowledge. Our eyes locked as we drank to our intended joining, we each sipped our wine then drew to one another and kissed. He was forthright and strong, I softened into his kiss enjoying the firm heat of his lips and taste of our shared wine. Flutters of delight struck up within my womb and my cheeks flushed merrily. This was my first real experience, first taste of heated human sensual interaction with a male. What had I known? What did I expect? His cheeks were roughened with new beard growth, he had not refreshed himself with shaving this hastened morn. I found a deep desire for deeper encounter and reached to kiss him more deeply. After some time of this oral exploration we both seperated to take breath, smiles full of coyness and excitement.We drank and ate, our eyes both privately consuming one another and seeking retreat. Such innocents we were!

Burning within me was answer to the questions I had surrounding my night with Apollo that I eventually found voice, ‘My Lord, your understanding of my newly encountered situation suggests that perhaps you have knowledge that I may not.’ He sighed deeply looking down for some time before raising his eyes to me once more. ‘Lady Cymone, I regret I behaved poorly. I followed you to the grove, concerned that some mischief may come to you so far distant to the haven of our city. I observed in secret your dance for the gods and as you faltered I would have reached for you and carried you home but a brightness unknown came upon me, our Lord Apollo took voice from me and shaded my eyes that I could bear witness to his blessing of you. He knew my devotion to you, and knew, in my love that I would serve him in his desire. I thank him in that he forced my hand to play and now we will be wed, I regret that I must accommodate his will, yet some part of me finds desire in the knowing that the one I choose a god also chooses.’ My mouth was dry with anticipation, this man loved me! Yet he was not yet done. ‘When Lord Apollo departed, he made me swear I would uphold the bargain, he left you asleep in a poorly made bed of underbrush, in the dimness of his departure I clothed you in my cloak and awaited your stirring before I quietly departed the grove. Thus, as you will well know, I directly spoke with my family to announce my desires.’ Our family interrupted this discourse, our eyes caught and expressed their bitter disappointment at the disruption, coy smiles erupted both our faces as we attended our family’s needs.

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Daughter of Sparta: Part II

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Awakening as if from a dream I found myself unsure if my memory of the past day is reliable. I feel well, but am disorientated. My clothing is all in place, I have no golden wings protruding from my shoulders. Dawns light has reached the grove and I have stirred in forest growth bedding draped with a rich cloak. Bewildered, I rise and smooth my dark curled hair. Thirst and hunger mark the time for me, whilst I danced I neither drank nor ate and now here it is morning and my hunger suggests I have been here since dawn the previous day. Unsure what I should do, I head home. My parents may, or may not, have recognised my absence. I wrap the cloak about me, feeling strangely naked in my normal everyday Spartan dress, and begin to walk toward home.

As I encounter helots in the fields I encounter a strange sensation, it seems I am moving much slower than the others around me. I feel I am moving at a normal pace, yet those in the fields I see move at least twice as fast as I am. Shaking my head to remove the illusion I walk on toward the city. When I reach the outskirts of the city this sensation exacerbates which creates a deep sense of discomfort within me. I rush to reach home all the while preparing myself for the inevitable encounter with my parents, every moment the sun rises higher I am aware that my presence must surely be missed and a reckoning will be required. What could I say? I no longer truly believed that I had encountered a god, yet had I? I breathed deeply and continued my awkward approach homeward.

It seemed an age I negotiated the streets before entering my home by the, oddly, open front door. As I crossed the threshold and closed the door behind me, I realised the house was in uproar. Helots moved at a frantic pace and both my parents were standing appearing dumbfounded in the entry area. I ceased moving and stood still observing the scene. It seemed to take some moments before my presence was noted. This gave me time to further observe the scene, there had been an early morning disturbance that required more than the usual attendance of helots, the house was in disarray but not because I had not been here. My mother saw me first, I went to kneel and apologise but she caught me up in her arms and taking both my hands spoke reverently to me; ‘My daughter, we are overwhelmed, such blessing upon this house.’ Her eyes were wild with distant imagining, barely present at all. My father stepped in and took my left hand from my mothers grip. ‘Daughter, while you slept we have had a visitor in the early hours. He has made it plain he seeks your hand. This surprises us, as he is no ordinary man and spoke as one possessed, yet he has pledged his house to ours and we find it acceptable.’ I started to shake, from thirst and hunger I suspect but my parents thought it shock at the sudden proposal and rushed to seat me. I requested drink and food. They hurried our helots to serve and assist me. I gulped the at the wine to slake my thirst and eagerly consumed from the platter laid before me the goats cheeses, dried meats, olives and tomato. My parents sat and watched me eat as if they had never seen such a sight before, as though they had discovered what they thought was a useless pebble to them had been exposed as a rare jewel. Finally, my thirst and hunger was outweighed by their odd behaviour and my mothers announcement that there was a more than suitable proposal, I was driven to query.

‘Mother, whom has visisted this morning? Please tell me the news.’ My mothers face shone as she smiled in recollection, ‘Daughter mine, as you know we thought no easy match would be made for you yet this morning well before dawn the door banged incessantly, the helots raised and answered and stirred us from bed with announcement of the caller, we dressed and met him, dishevelled he was but clear on his intention which was simple, he desired your hand. We were eager to approve yet he pressed us to be certain, then gave us some strange terms but gods be praised, we have reached a beyond equal match for your hand.’ I waited patiently for my mother to continue then looked to my father who was terribly still. ‘Father, what have you to say of this match, who is the suitor to have our household in such uproar?’ My father stood still, wringing his hands and looking to Olympus. ‘Father, what say you?’ I prompted. I drank more wine and ate more, thinking all the while of the odd dream I had, perhaps it really was more than the imaginings of a devout supplicant. My father finally stirred. ‘Daughter, Cymone. The prince has come to declare himself and claim you. Yet, he speaks in riddles and I am concerned his father, our King, does not know of his intentions. I fear,’ his words were cut short by new rigorous banging on the front door. There was disruption in the house as a lush wrap was pressed upon my mother and battle dress for my father, no one attempted to manage my appearance which was surely a fright after my day of dance and sleeping on the rough. Finally the visitors were welcomed, the King, with his wife and son walking demurely behind him. It was obvious to me the King was in a rage but was tempering himself in the house of his honoured general, my father.

All knelt except me, no one seemed to notice but I found I could not move, except to nibble at my food and gulp at my wine. The King consumed a vast breath before speaking, all waited looking as if they assumed the worst. ‘My son, Pleistoanax tells me that he has extended his pledge of marriage to your daughter Cymone.’ I quietly washed my hands and gulped more wine. ‘He did so without first consulting his parents, yet there is no greater match for a prince than a King’s honoured general, especially to a daughter who appears to be blessed by an Olympian. I have come to seek proof of this outlandish claim since there has been no evidence to suggest such an alliance in the life of Cymone yet.’ At this point all eyes were now upon me. I set my glass down and rose, I moved away from the seating area and into the more open reception area of the room, I knelt, and I prayed to Apollo to assist me, this could all only have come about if his visitation with me were a true memory, therefore this was the match he intended. Words found a way into my mouth, I found myself saying ‘Lord Pausanias, your son is wise, the god of prophesy has commanded him to look to the blessed daughter of Thorax. You question the word of Apollo?’ I was horrified at the rudeness of these words spoken to my King but as I said them with all eyes upon me, my golden wings unfurled and the Lord Apollo appeared beside me offering me his hand. While I took it and raised myself to stand I looked to room and all had bowed before us. Apollo’s eyes were bright and mischievous as he looked upon me, ‘I delight in your new wings my beloved, I imagine the world seems very different to you today, you may call to me any time you choose if you need my words or intervention otherwise I will see you kneeling in supplication in our grove as I command.’ I smiled in response and nodded my agreement as I sensed he did not require more at this time, he was upon the stage presenting his prize to the masses and I would follow his prompt.

‘My Lords,’ he stated winning their favour by suggesting they were somehow equal in lord-hood as he. ‘We seem to have some concern around my visitation to your city. I came to recognise Cymone and point out my favour of her to Pleistoanax as he simply seems the only Spartan man worthy of her. Cymone carries my blessing as all can observe, is this the only point in question?’ There was much rustling of robes but not one dared raise their head nor voice any concern. ‘I thought I would not need to appear to you all after speaking with the intended bride and groom, yet as I have had to, I will make plain, Cymone’s hair will not be shorn like a sheep on her wedding day. Her luscious curls will remain intact as a symbol of my intact blessing of Sparta.’ There was silence, none of the brave Spartans would speak directly to Apollo. Ashamed of my people I found my voice, ‘Apollo, Lord of prophecy and herds, we the people of Sparta thank you earnestly and beg your forgiveness if any slight has occurred, we promise all will be made up to you as desired.’ Now the others stirred all as one, voicing acknowledgement of Apollo’s wisdom, grace and beneficence. Apollo himself was absorbed speaking to me in a tone I realised none but I could hear, he described our coupling in words that made me shudder and blush vigorously and he demanded my return to the grove at moons rise to complete the ritual we had begun.


Words errant satiety

image Helen of Sparta

Link to Daughter of Sparta: Part I

Daughter of Sparta: part I

detail-of-head-of-helen-P (2)As a child of Sparta, I always felt isolated. We celebrated militarism, austerity and athletic strength of which things I could find nothing to love. Raised to be mother to soldiers and run a household alone, while my husband lived in the barracks and returned home secretly at night, I found joy only in music, dance and the potential ideas that might transform our military state. These ideas, I learned early, were not popular among our people. They liked what they knew, we were extremely devout to our patron gods, with our diligent military regime we could do no wrong. I could see the potential wrong, but my ideas were laughed at. So, I kept them still, within, and focussed my desired ‘athleticism’ on dance but unlike the other Spartan girls I did not compete for favour. None of them moved like I and I would not move like they insisted I should. My parents despaired even to marry me, wondering if I would live with them forever or wind up a helot (slave) when they eventually passed to the underworld. Yet I yearned and plotted a secret plan that emerged in my heart, a hope that I may yet save my ‘misplaced’ soul. When I reached the age of promising, when I knew there would be no ‘sane’ Spartan suitor to request my hand, I took myself to my beloved glade, where I alone celebrated through dance to all gods and goddesses that would hear my wayward words. For the first time I raised an altar, before I had simply danced and sung but now I laid down the appropriate incense and wine coupled with drops of my own blood before I expressed my prayers and began to dance. I intended to dance all day, all night, to dance however long it took for the gods to see me and decide it was worthwhile to them to intervene.


I danced a very long time; my lips were drying, and my limbs weary to failure, yet my will would not desist. I cried out with my entire soul to Ares, celebrating our military history and honouring our connection to him, I called to Athena, celebrating the wisdom she offers our military intention and imploring she would head my prayers, I called to Apollo lamenting that his prophetic vision did not visit our nation of strength often enough. I called, cried, lamented and danced my devotion for hour upon hour. At the point where my strength was nearly completely waned, I stumbled but righted myself and continued, then an ecstasy alighted me, blinding light filled my grove and a hand reached from behind me covering my eyes. Another hand reached around my waist and stilled my movement, I was spent and the arm that embraced me held me upright. A voice resonant of honeyed wine and ancient life spoke gently, as a caress to me; “child, be still, you have danced long and well, I am here, and I would take your sight briefly that I can be here in my full light without taking your vision forever.” I sighed and relaxed deeply into the embrace of the Olympian who held me, this surrender was my consent, who needed eyes to speak with a god! I heard an odd sound beside me, of tree limbs reaching and becoming entangled. The firm arms were replaced by tree limbs that grasped for me and embraced me yet also contained me, a moment of fear flared within me, yet the Olympian voice assured me this surrender was my destiny and his desire. Bereft of sight and trained from infanthood to be wary my other senses rallied to replace my lack of vision. I heard the steps of the earthbound god, I could smell god forced green growth and a lush tone that I could only relate to newly forged gold. I licked my dry lips and prayed my countenance was not ill after so much toil in dancing. “Hush mortal, these things are small compared to your desire for your people. You would dare to call upon the gods, who are content with the love of your people, to assist you in steering your people to a different path?” Humbled, I wondered how I had the audacity to plead my case so fervently, yet I persisted, I knew that my desires were constant, and the gods favour was not. I answered, hoping my mortal voice did not waver too much or give credence to my fears. “My Lord, I fear my people are short-sighted, without music and genuine expression, with only military training and limited intellectual pursuit, relying on helots to tend out crops I see our people are doomed for failure. I crave more than this for Sparta and believe with her diligence we can deliver much, much more.” There was silence for a time during which I felt only the branch tips becoming vines reaching further along my limbs, increasing their hold upon me, I was now bound firmly in place my ankles spread wide, my waist supported but pushed forward, my arms spread outward yet held so I could relax into this odd pose. I began to realise my exposure, the short dresses we wore meant the posture I was in laid my buttocks bare, I no longer had any limb free to move and defend myself if it were necessary. Again, his divine voice reassured me that my surrender was the sacrifice for his favour to my intentions. Once more I submitted but girded my resolve.

His voice emanated as if from everywhere, yet I could track his movement around my grove. His voice betrayed excitement, engaging my wit as I was aware of how bargains with the immortal gods could be laced with poison, I was not concerned for my lifetime but the potential within my womb. “I have heard your supplication and intend to bless your people through your immediate lineage so long as you heed my desires. Shall I name them?” I wet my lips, this was more than I had dreamed of! Yet, I must keep my mortal head, what if his terms were more than I could live up to? Then all was for naught. I must hear and be sure the terms could be honoured before giving accord. “My Lord, I know not which Lord honours me, please outlay your terms openly and fairly along with your true name that I may be sure my lineage may uphold our agreement.” His laugh was magical, it lured me to forget all argument and get on to the joys he suggested but my will was strong, at least I imagined it so, and I held fast awaiting his true response in words. “A will such as yours will not be swayed with mere Olympian godhead, and is as should be, the deal we strike is for the fruit of your womb as much as for you. My terms are simple, Spartan women do not require maidenhead for marriage, I shall have yours and restore it and reclaim it as often as I choose. This grove shall be ours alone until age comes upon you, then a temple shall be erected here in my and your name, this name we will create as a lesser god of the local realm, if you please me I do not intend for you to age in normal years and you will live as a lesser god. Your womb shall be blessed with demi-gods and mortals alike, your lineage shall stretch out long before you, but the mate you take shall always accept that you have a lover, I will not be an Ares belittled, I will be accepted by your mortal mate, do not fear, one of power and suitability shall come to your parents with offer within a few days. More simply still, I will not have your head shorn in marriage, I delight in your full head of hair. If you can obey me in these things then my blessing you shall have and lover you will become to Apollo, renamed Apollo Amyklaios for our meeting.”

This sounded simple enough, yet what suitor would accept such terms and how was Apollo so sure? Yet who was I to question the god of prophesy? I started to see how he hoped to best his brother Ares, our current patron, and not be disgraced for his lack of cleverness with the taking of lovers. Yet I must press… “Lord Apollo, you offer this mortal and her people great boon, yet I must be brazen ask how will my potential mate know of our encounters and not be shamed like your brother Ares?” His laughter now was so deep and natural I knew my question pleased him deeply. Once settled he replied: “Your mate is destined to see all encounters whether in person or if he is distant he will view them as the prophets see. He will see all and will know all when he asks for you. He is the kind of man that is not belittled by his mate having a lover, he will be the kind that feeds from this.” As a virgin and not being a man I did not know this was possible but the Lord of Prophecy was telling me this in his god voice, he took my sight thus he could be in his full presence meaning he only spoke truth and I trusted this. Perhaps I should not, yet I did. Without knowing I would say it, my voice spoke up; “My Lord Apollo, we have an accord.”

His response was indescribable, the limbs and vines that held me thrummed and shuddered then his hands were upon my face, softly as a lover expressing his devotion before something deeper and more bestial took him. My outstretched face was met with his divine shaft, having no previous experience he coaxed me through but I found an eagerness within me to taste and consume his godly length, deep moans of pleasure erupted from within me that I initially constrained but he encouraged so I let them free. The motion of his strokes upon my eager and sensitive lips brought about such desire within me I felt it would never be satiated. Eventually he spilled his seed within my mouth and I was struck with the enormity of what we had set in place, he stroked my face gently and commanded I imbibe his seed. Once I had obeyed him, I realised this was what he needed to instill the change within my form. I became aware of the minutia within me that began to evolve, Apollo was calm whilst I experienced this change of being, exchanging mortality for something else, foreign yet welcome, yet terrifying. Apollo strummed his lute and sang of my calling him ending the song with something I will never forget, not only the change of my mortality but the addition of wings to my form. As soon as he sang them they erupted from my shoulders. Golden, I could smell the molten gold, the pain was indescribable.


More to come…


Words by Errant Satiety inspired by Circe a novel by Madeline Miller and Michael at Dionsyian Experience

Image of Helen of Sparta (Helen of Troy)

Part II here



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.

words by errant satiety image courtesy of Phoenirius on deviantART

Divine Seduction (a monologue)


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.

Words by the author writing as errant satiety image by Trung Cao

One eye open

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.

A tale of two cities (OM’s FFFC)

This is my response to OM’s Flash Fiction Friday Challenge, I am late but I have a note so I am excused. Not sure if I have actually met the brief but this is my take:

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.


Iurie Belegurschi

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.


Inspired by myths and the poem Rígsþula or Rígsmál (“Lay of Ríg”) about the Norse god Heimdallr, known as Rígr when walking the lands. Both images of the Northern lights: Image one Iurie Belegurschi and image two Miriadna.


If not now…


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.

Image courtesy of Cerine from deviantART



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.