Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sacrelicious Jul 2012
Hate flows,
free through her blood.
Infecting every *****.

First,
with her heart,
then her brain.

A deranged, heartless *****,
with all the power.

Succubi.
Queen of Bloodshed.
Harlot of Satan.

Swing dancing murderers
& ball-room assassins.
Seek her out, on
the dance floor.
To, get a chance to Swing Dance with Lucy, herself.

Good men will fall down to evil.
Slowly dancing and stabbing  
pretty, young girls.
Under the noses of their wives.

To save their,
lost souls
from the belly of the beast.

Covered in their blood, sweat & glitter,
the Party Princesses are slain
by the Princes of Poverty.
Cause they weren't getting pity ******.
R Forrest Feb 2014
Why do I feel compelled
To describe you as imprinted
On the bone face of my skull?
Am I in there, rattling
Around with each curt nod
When you offer me your time?
Hurled against the stretches of the mind
The head's own incubator
Some Palaeolithic cave
Where the only inexperienced scrawlings
Are your portrait
In this cave I have invented film
Starting with a rickety old Zoetrope
Of the first smile; lips bracketing
The teeth, enabling
The tongue, to churn out
The voice, your nuclear voice
Hanging my Nagaskian heart by a hair
I haven't needed irradiation
Like the hand-canter of a harp player
I have been plucking my scalp
Hardly Lilith but perhaps
Deforesting Eden
Will tempt you from Eve.
Elaenor Aisling Sep 2021
My sisters and I jest
That men never get over us.
We have been named
Muses, angels, succubi, leanan sidhe
But we are les belles dames avec merci
And that is their undoing.
Our breath has left them gasping
With unfilled lungs
We never meant to be their oxygen
But they drink us in like drowning men.

We didn’t ask for this,
But disarming, we are soft enough
For them to float in
Belly up, eyes to distant stars
Singing the sirens song that stirs in our veins.

Behind our teeth rests the love
The world has failed to give them till now
There are holds in the knowledge
that our fingertips find the hollowed spaces,
mother wounds, clefts where trust was carved out,
And they clutch our palms to staunch the bleeding.

We never asked for this,
They cherish the brittle changelings of us
until they are crushed in the coals of our eyes
Eggshell ideals, fragile as egos.
Blown by the sea wind in the strands of our hair
they are scattered, undone.

The distance drifts between, inevitable
And full they turn away to starve
We cut the mooring line
After one too many storms,
And search
For safer
Harbor.
david badgerow Oct 2011
It was daytime:

I was seperating siamese twins
at the waist
Like a government
trying to quell a rebellion;

I was reconfiguring
scarred old wooden toys
for Santa;
shining scuffed shoes--
pennyloafers with nickels
in the slots.

It was daytime:

I was decapitating
red-haired stepchildren
who had grown
sour from neglect;
removing brilliant succubi attached
to a wholesome family's
soul.

I was snacking on a
nerds rope,
washing babies mouths out
with soap,
slapping pink cheeked
toddlers on their feet.
POSSIBLE Feb 2016
That ***** Named Desire
I had a succubus try to take my seed
in a dream today   
I broke the connection and said
***** you gotta pay to playyyyyyy

You so used to controlling my desires
well, NOT ANYMORE
Best get on your knees and call me sire
“Sir you have the floor”

I wage war on the empire
of the realm of desire
So if you conspire to be in my line of fire
Don’t say I didn’t tell you,
    You’ve earned my Ire.

The rhythm of my war drum goes:
BOOM BOOM KAT TiS KAT
OHHHHM
Mah heart  BEATS ta da Rhythm of the
BOOM BOOM KAT TiS KAT
Dreeeeeiiim
We illuminate truth, or sooo it seeeeeeeeeeeeim
But still.....
The rhythm of my war drum BEATS:
BOOM BOOM KAT TiS KAT
OHHHHM



So I wage war on the realm of the evil fae
Ima PURIFY da demons until  
dey take me away (screamed)

Bleed out into LIFE;
  reverse the vampire effect
place succubi in a hearse
  and drive them straight ta deaph


cause lately You been drivin me crazy
and making my will, focus, an determination
sooo haeeezzzzy

But NO MORE
cause now Its time to
Settle DA SKORE


Ritually open my wounds
and bleed acid on you
Don’t worry theres enough
cause your hackneyed and few

Ima chase the Daemons off
Smoke my dreads to their lungs
and make dem young cough
so offten I put em in a hot-boxed coffin
Now your outta breath
But im just not stoppin

huh (echo(
whats this? whats this....(echo(  
Claws,
talons,
teeth,
and  uh oh
Blood barrels stacked Its a wierd supply depot,

for that army growin
and growlin behind your eye, see though....
They Perma-
        on your shoulders,
   and now mine, Truth Show





!!!!!!1111RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP!!!!!!!11
So my wings tear free of my back
For so long they’ve been bound and compact
I look to my lovers and brothers and CRy
Stand!
Pick up your weapons,
Humanity,
Its time to act


A TRUMPET BLOWS,
   BEATING WINGS
THE DRUMS CONTINUE INTO THE DISTANCE


The rhythm of my war drum goes:
BOOM BOOM KAT TiS KAT
OHHHHM
Mah heart  BEATS ta da Rhythm of the
BOOM BOOM KAT TiS KAT
Dreeeeeiiim
We illuminate truth, or sooo it seeeeeeeeeeeeim
But still.....
The rhythm of my war drum BEATS:
BOOM BOOM KAT TiS KAT
OHHHHM
Gidgette Mar 2016
I understand now, the legend of the succubus
And from whence it came
Being broken hearted, alone, and jaded
Can make a night stalking lunatic, of any dame
My heart has been stolen,
I'll never be the same
So now I wander the night,
With the "succubus" name
I'll slip into your dreams,
Make any man my prey
A female demon of the night,
Its the truth, what they say
A nocturnal dream,
I'll dance in your head
And when the sun shines,
I'll hide under your bed
I cannot love you,
As I have no heart
My heart was broken,
So now I roam the dark
We succubi, hide in the shadows,
Watching our game
We are all heartless creatures,
We feel no shame
Yes, I understand now the legend of the succubus,
And from whence it came
As my heart is gone
Now "succubus" is my name
She casts a spell on me,
believing the runes to be right
I expect that this spell will last all through the night,
tomorrow I'll see
if she casts another spell on me,
and the succubi wonder why
I smile.
In twilight sleep,
thoughts out of control,
images take hold.
Viewed against  the canvass of blackness,
dead people dance
with succubi an incubuses.
Tiny gymnasts
balance on sharp edged swords
in le cirque du soleil
under a moonless sky.

Grimm’s tales
of baked children
and hungry wolves
play out. On a runway
starving women show
the latest fashions in cardinal red.
The Grinch stole my  green silk  Balenciaga gown.
Gave it to the frog  prince.
Sleeping beauty is just a ******.
She had too much of all of it.

Hermes glass slippers are sold
Only too few and deserving  Cinderellas,
trophy wives of  mummified kings.
What they really deserve is not on the menu.
Just le plat du jour of ortolans.
The three pigs are out of breath,
Not enough air for a *******.
Rose colored glasses take on a nasty
hue of watered down blood.
Bottle green is not la couleur du jour,
rather that bile color
with a tint of pus yellow.
There is a storm brewing,
A tsunami rising,
the earth shakes,
Volcano red lava
licks down the mountain.

Destiny?
Fate?
Apocalypse?

A voice whispers:
put up a shield, a bright canvass.
Paint with bold rounded strokes
in earthen tones.  Mold  vessels
to hold the morning dew.
Catch rays of sun
in a glass glockenspiel.
Hum the world, sing life.
Touch, feel, be alive.

A ray of sun sneaks through the blinds.
Dust dances in a shaft of light.
I am safe, for another day.
Guss Jan 2014
The dissonance of your resonating
image haunts my memory.
A drifter in dimensions,
the prevention that kept me from you,
was myself and my trajectory.
Not a man then
but some other lesser mess of a soul.
At first,
with your plasma torch of a self,
you took my hands.
I was left laying still in the dirt,
with my eyes to see and my mouth
to taste the horrid flavor of our tango.
As well as my heart to feel
and my mind to think
but this would be a schism of my senses.
Succubi eventually take them all.
At least all the ones that matter.
Then she kicked me out to Cosmos.
I was flattered at the beginning,
when you told me you loved me.
But now,
I'm drifting into the darkness of space
with my environmental suit,
that protects me forever.
Wandering and Unaffected.
I need a resurrection.
Lily Ruanes Mar 2021
The cold wind taking its leeway inside
My room in battle of darkness and light
I saw a woman, a goddess so bright
Naked she walked her way on my bedside
Miss sinister I drowned I can't decide
When such beauty danced with me in delight
A demon, a stranger, a dream she might
Such cogent action had woke my blind side

She is a paragon of perfection
Her eyes speak the truth of lust and evil
Her ******* were those that stole man's attention
Yet perhaps I made love with the devil
Blinded I am to unknown affection
True, her flower turned men into rebel
She's watching you.
Claire Waters Sep 2014
lost friends were barely the beginning
no holds barred a death grip bending
wonder "what if" brings the bold ending
another story of my half hearted glory still pending
the forecast is gorgeous with a chance of importance
miss muppet eats her porridge, facade painting waits for mourning
gorged til morsels turned to acid moons, her stomach waning spoons of poison
and then the spider climbed on down the chimney spout
he loved her with a death grip, couldn't bear to let her out
she slipped away limping doubt

i am never what you ordered, right?
less forward then when you saw my light
came in for the warmth he runs from night
as it fell he left burning for a fight
confused by simple misery
mistook for complex mystery
from porcelain skin to bleeding tin
she was a sordid sort of fantasy
the lemons in the leopards tree
crouching he protects and heeds
the bitter fruit he cannot eat
so long as he may wrap his limbs
round such a lovely sacred tree
they see succubi laced in leaves
a lovely sight with poison teeth
but wrong the masses stood, as always
a daughter of zion missing her wings
fought through mobs, yearning to be free
nuclear body in a derelict land freezing
the pure love escaped her at beelzebub's hand
replaced with lust and sacrament
she had no home, but hut in sand
she dreams of warm days soon arriving,
dry eyes, dry land
living light in tears just drying
the purest kind she's never finding
in her mind the road seems endless
she loses sight of truth in it's windings
sits in trees ******* pulp
from the vitriol
at night that came
to burn him down
the windchimes tinkling
the golden sound

she made a pact with the devil
the night knights left the bevel
he told her for a piece of her broken heart
he'd offer peace and settlement
and on the day the angels touched down
he watched her wings part, unearthly sound
puffed his chest, lest the ego deathed
to brag at the world what he had found
and asked in awe where he was to start
understanding all the fragments of her heart
she left in the morning and never came back
the gods don't like the selfish calf
the flaunting of deities, the crass obsessions
they want their daughters depicted
in inked diary wraps
preserved for life
he whispered to her ear
these men want nothing
but to consume you to death

i have broken three to six hearts
since i started to warp
showed the spiders my hands
threw down my arms, too tired to explain
being human is hard when
the ananse have more legs than cards
the only fable was aesop and his art
the cyclical change of a fractal of parts
i am not the same being
as when i started writing these words
unfinished
Sue Dunhym Dec 2010
As she adjusted her bra strap,
I noticed my lust.
Blindingly sevidical, but as brief as a wrap,
To control, to control, let it fall to the dust.

I wished for many a time
Merely to speak, to flow, allow my thoughts to congeal.
Alas, it was faulty; only amounting to my sacral slime.
I should realise, fortify the need for reckless zeal.

Claim envy. Jealousy. Angst.
A coward. A loser. A failure.
For sure, for sure. It appears it canst.
Only to seek, touch, comprehend your allure.

Sirens and succubi hold no claim.
Vixens and Amazons wither in your light.
Incorporate: Intelligence. Ineffectual. Insane.
For you lasted longer than any mere sight.

They will ask me, one day
How I allowed the fissure to exist.
Fall. Fall. At the bottom you lay.
I will respond, “It was my cowardice I kissed”
copyright of  TP Flusk
Anais Vionet Mar 18
Hamlet, sharpen your sword of trust, for Macbeth is surely waiting.

The specter of ‘Civil war’ stalks the land and the ghosts of senseless violence, so long docile, have come to hollow-eyed attention.

Our cauldron was filled with innocence, as the ever-thirsty succubi require, the glory of war is being shaken, not stirred and the betrayal will be served as quick and cold as steel.

#chefskiss
Inspired by Kurt Philip Behm‘s poem “Shiloh.”
MGoering Jun 2012
§

She draws from me fantastical energy
her succubi passion knows no bounds,
bodies devoured as we entangle.
A writhing mass of probing flesh,
lips and ***** become one
in the intensity of unity.
Rough hands on supple flesh,
tingling pleasures
elicit deep moaning.
Bodies burst into flames,
In the fiery chambers
of the furnace of Eros.
Writhing increases
moans turn to howls,
the finale begins
animalistic fervor escalates.
A shrill shriek of excess rings out
the threshold is crossed,
the awesome ecstasy is swirling madness.
Max Goering May 2012
In the midnight tree,
I heard her calling out to me,
Butterfly wings adorned,
Couldn't mask her succubi smile,
Or devilish horns,
But still she flew,
Majestic, graceful,
and oh so pretty,
And I watched as she sang,
Sang those sweet sweet melodies.

She didn't speak, not in human tongues,
But every word she spoke was true,
"John, John, John,"
I came to her, then from out the tree,
mesmerized, hypnotized,
Her image is memorized,
And she revealed herself to me,
Her naked purity,
Now, I must admit,
with my own sly grin,
That in the air of that midnight tree,
Did I ravish her,
Quite intimately.
brokenperfection Oct 2014
I sat alone in front of a crumbling grey building until its debris whispered the okay for me to go home

when you jog under street lamps and your breath is white and misty from the chill, you realize just how many footsteps have fallen before you and you wonder just how much of this same air was here last year


how can I ever live on my own when I am so afraid of the dark?


if I had a penny for every vivacious hot dog stand I came across......... I'd have enough to buy a few hot dogs.

the air doesn't smell *****. the ground doesn't look littered and ashen. this place is alive. the streets are filled with the souls of the people. they just take the shape of battered shopping carts and greasy cardboard boxes and taxi smoke when you're not looking hard enough. they're exceptional at disguise.

I see a lot of churches but I only see sin happening at the altar.  

you cannot think for yourself when the roar of the city is your cerebral cortex

in all my musing I dreamt of cobblestones and patisseries. I thought the history was in the legend-- in the campfire stories and the romance novels. but it isn't. it's here. it's New York.

children are different here. self awareness ranks high when the thieves hide in plain sight.

cracks in the pavement make me wonder what mysteries lay in the tunnels that no one speaks about

spoke to approximately 30 koreans in china town about the price of tea in america

haute couture is for sure never going to be folklore

I felt inferior walking down fifth ave so I bought a pair of knock-off sunglasses and painted musicals with my feet while eating candied insects with strangers

undiscovered broke talent meets every corner in every city

pick a card
any card
except that one
he knew I knew he'd get my $20
I let him have it
it was counterfeit

brooklyn is a two-faced liar and I'm jim carrey with a b-bl-b-blllll-bllluuured pen,
carving my insides into the trees so the little girls remember their manners when they're older

new york is forever awake and I am eternally ready to go to sleep  

taxi drivers are succubi
It's the little things
rsc May 2015
dream weaver swinging a meat cleaver
sewing spells with stitches of fever
pitching fast ***** and low blows
to the sweating and eager
set the succubi on the nonbelievers
steal the dams and **** the beavers
heal the toe jam nightmare
with foot cream and elbow grease
press lilies into every open knee joint crease
call the landlord
sign the lease
the sole matron of the shopping mall
sifts flour in a sun dress
the screaming fire alarm goes off
breaking dishes
knocking down sprinklers
wreaking havoc
making a mess
let me jump down your throat
and swim in the abscess
infect your brain with chloroform and soda pop in excess
no manic pixie dream girl
no damsel in distress
a ferris wheel on turbo twirl
a gravitron programmed to make you hurl
your embarrassed lunch
pick me bunches of wild flowers
i'm open to sacrifice
scrape the back of your throat with a screwdriver
dutifully collect jars full of head lice
the meek mice of the holes in the wall
crawl out gleaming sweaty sheen
the expectant floorboards creak out mean greetings
the expectant backs preemptively remove their shirts to receive beatings
students scurry by
feet frantic
late for their meetings
through it all
the crows keep bleating
goddesses nestle in the clouds
and predators eat their young
rodents mumble songs unsung
and in branches where bodies once hung
dangle fruit and flower:
another season, come.
Hailey Jujubeen Mar 2014
I asked a stranger to pour me into the ocean
so shards of me could fall in the peacock blue.
You should put it in writing.
but Amy asks  “But who ya writing for?”
My hair floats above my head
my body hovers
where succubi don’t put up with false pretenses
and neither do I.

And then I was ****** under.
While you were thinking I didn’t have a clue
With no voice in my head, I shot into the sky
to find myself as an emerald.
Where I observe, but don’t change.
I remember *** like a past life time
I remember love like a fresh knife wound
I have sensations in these pages
Scribes of feelings and dumb poetry

Loneliness is a privilege
Here I get to feel terrible and awesome at the same time
Listen to the passing moments of continuum
Reminisce about the times of delirium

Sinking deep into the uncaring
the wan zombie-state
are corpses wrong to often blink?
I go to the bar where dead men drink

here the waiters (waiting to pass on) influence the living
manipulating their lives
confusing their consciousness
I thought there were no psychos in heaven
but I stepped into a brothel of dead men

The wicked sell *** for reincarnation
The non-malicious offer *** to those willing to gravitate in altered heights of vibration
.... I could be just numb, listening to the lowly succubi whispering dark tales
I see no fairies, it cannot be a fairy tale, this could just be a personal astral conversation.
She fluttered her eyes
I stuttered replies
but she was the devil in disguise
the succubi
the demon dame
that came to me one night
and I could not escape, her fate for me
was surely that destiny in store
and she wore my destiny so well
for a devil from hell.
She bled me dry
and bled me more
I sighed and in my very core
knew I was lost.

And now it happens frequently
I see her lips that turn and snarling,darling
come to me
I fight but do I want to break free?
she's rough but oh so tenderly
I think I'll wait and see
what the future holds
wave Mar 2015
The ***** water shoild have served as a clue, otherwise we could have been making an iced tea commercial, the sky so clear, her boosum so full, and she was happy, genuinely happy to be with me.  We wondered why the hotel worker wasn't cleaning the pool, as he drove off in quite the hurry.  

Then, out of the corner of my eye I caught the orange, black and white contrasting stripes of a bengal tiger.  Just like that there are Six of them, sauntering down from the jungle to take a dip.  We just sat there watching them on the other side of the pool.  They didn't chase the hotel worker as he drove off in his jeep, hopefully to get help.  I figured, "Well, they aren't hungry."  

Each one took a turn getting in and out of the water, and then they approached, one from each side of the pool, two in the water, two stayed back at the other end of the pool.  They were sooooo big and strong looking.  I got into the water, she stayed in her lounge chair, petrified, frozen. The first tiger to reach us stopped by the wall just like a swimmer might, and waited for me to surface.  As soon as I did he looked into me and said, "you both look mighty tasty, too bad she divorced your ***!"  And then I woke up, actually wishing I could go back to that dream just to be 'with' her again.  

As I write this I notice two small punctures at the base of my *******, just like those a succubi might leave behind.  Reminds me of the time we were playing and I said, "If you make me bleed I'm outta here!"  She laughed at me and continued putting parts of my flesh between her teeth.  It's not fleas, it's been ice cold outside and the dog isn't scratching.  I convince myself it was a spider, shake out my bed and crawl back in.  You see, at this point, I know I will fair better with a spider and those tigers than I will my own reality.
Each one of us put ourselves before the other.  Looking back, I wish I had stayed on the surface, to face those tigers together.  And what's a little blood between lovers?  Was I, and am I still, a sap?
You taught me to count and I counted the days, and the days mounted up and still I counted the days and I got old and tired and lost count of the days.
I can start again,
I can number the drops of rain that fall
I can count them all,
you
taught me that.
But
you never taught me about time
about how it is wasted in fruitless endeavour
on the dumb and the clever in equal quantity,
a pity really.

It's a disorder to order the order of things
and much easier to see what disorder brings,
chaos or not?

A plot against Kings and those who hold dominion,
those who drag us down and pinion our arms
to tag us with lasers and pull out our eyes.
A plot against the lies that restrain us
are you with me?
chaos or not?

Still counting,
being obsessive possesses me,
a demon ******* me
a succubi for an eye?
or is the sleep that builds up the bridges I see,
ready for me?
I have numbered the pages and each new leaf I've burned,
counted,
lost count and returned to count once again,
all drops of rain in the end.

Time and the beads of its abacus feeds on me,
I will count the beads one
by one and one day
fruitless or not
I will have got the
number right.

Between Brighton and Hove and New Cross gate, when all is still and time can wait.

Kaboom.
Kaboom
Kaboom.
I
thought it was a magic spell to break the link 'twixt time and Hell but
just three words that make no sense but still,
kaboom,
I tried again but still
the same.

The beads fall into line and like a Rubik's cube, time falls into place,
if I see the face of my creator
if I dance with Marilyn on the moon
if once again
all is all too soon but
if I mention,
mention time after time, then
perhaps I'll be allowed to stand a little longer in the line that gets much shorter and time will wait to see the words which freely flow from me,
if not,
I'll be seeing you all on the other side.
Sarah Spang Oct 2017
I seek, stalk the streets like a
Succubi;
Greet the shadows as kin, ravenous.

Bright, our desire
Light, our pyre.

I draw on scent, on touch
Toss those bright sparks down my gullet-
Drink them like a stiff whiskey,
Watch them shatter when they clear.

They always clear.

I like the dark stuff,
Cinder and velvet
Just beneath the surface
And almost as smooth,
Trace their features before they're
Consumed, distilled, revealed.

Some take longer
Burn fiercely like
Small suns on my tongue
Remain once the glass has tipped
And they are the prize
I cannot theft.

Too bad for them
I'm always thirsty.
RAObY Apr 2014
We walk the floor to sarabande
Bare hand touching glove
While gliding past like two crosswinds
Choreographed by love
Round and round the maple floor
This ballroom of romance
The ****** sensuous magic
Of this periodic dance
The wondrous thoughts of what might be
The four four beat of hope
The interwoven bonds of fate bound by cupid's rope
My silent passion  eats at me
This long shot possibility
Swaddled in a timeless shawl
Like a naked helpless child of fate
She throws sad caution to the wind
Who runs before they crawl?
We twist and laugh and share and scream
Against the massive odds
And leave the outcome of this dance
In the hands of makeshift gods
The crescendo beating in same time
With a heart so filled with hope
That any moment might explode
And  blood soak all who try
To woo the heart of innocence
In this world of succubi
I fight with demons in the night who come unbidden to my room and there's no hiding place they don't know and so no place for me to go and the night comes to me quickly now, the days grow shorter and the shadows rise up drainpipes or fall down from the chimney breast.

These demons who would come to flay me or succubi who wish to 'lay me' (Americans I presume) in the gloom all have a smell about them, the smell of something old or dead, these, the demons fly into my eyes and in my head it's just a game, a catch me if you can, the demons there, though not tame are well behaved, like Jesus gonna save them souls!

Honour and the roles we play
we all pay in the end
and I with demons, do defend their right
to visit me, but
every night is
*******.
ghost queen May 2021
Madame LeCarvennec had asked the chauffeur to be at Manoir Tregont Mab by 7 PM, the start of civil twilight during the vernal equinox, which would give them plenty of time to get to Pointe du Raz by nightfall at 8:52 PM.

It would be bitterly cold and windy at Enez Sun, so Gaëlle put on her black Lululemon cold weather leggings, long sleeved top, fleece vest, black hooded Patagonia puff down jacket, and black military style UGG leather boots.

Madame LeCarvennec had her druidess clothes and things taken to the island this morning, so she could travel and fly unencumbered.

Gaëlle walked down the stairs, where Madame LeCarvennec was waiting for her. They kissed twice cheek to check in silence. Then Madame LeCarvennec gave her a quarter baguette, ham, and butter sandwich.

Gaëlle walked out into the drizzling cold and stepped into a black Evoque Range Rover. The chauffeur, a middle aged man, armed and former  1st Marine Infantry Paratrooper, gave her a quick glance in the rear view mirror and started to drive.

They drove  in silence up D783 to Quimper, then D784 east to Pointe du Raz. She looked at the windows at the ghostly landscape, houses passing by in a blur. The seriousness of the situation weighed on her, as she slipped deeper into her thoughts, watching the endless landscape of cornfields.

They pulled into the deserted Pointe du Raz gravel parking lot. The sound of muffled crunching rocks bring her back to the moment. The driver stopped. She got out, and gasped at the cold vicious wind. She closed the door, and the chauffeur drove off. She was alone, in the dark Finistère shoreline.  

She walked down the paved trail towards the Sémaphore de la Pointe du Raz, a modern lighthouse, equipped with the latest in high-tech lighting, electronics, and microwave communication equipment. Then pass the Notre Dame des Naufragés, Our Lady of the Shipwrecked statue, till she got to the edge of the jagged rocks jutting into the Atlantic.

Directly in front of her was La Vieille, a lighthouse built on a rock, to the north Phare de Tévennec, a lighthouse built on a big rock and said to be haunted, and to the northwest, the infamous lighthouse Ar Men, called the hell of hells by keepers.

Lighthouses were classified by keepers into three categories, according to the harsh working conditions: "Hell" for houses at sea, "Purgatory" for island houses,  and "Paradise" for houses on land.

5 miles out, she could barely make out Enez Sun. The island was dark. The residents had left. The island was deserted except for the nine priestesses. Gaelle jumped into the air, placing her hands to her side as she picked up speed and altitude. The wind was blowing hard, forming white caps on the waves below.

She saw the bonfire, outstretched her hands, lowered her legs, and started her descent, landing several meters away from the circle of priestesses. A priestess pointed to a sack with Gaelle’s clothes: a white heavy cotton dress, a thick green woolen cloak, and turnshoe soft leather shoes.    

The priestesses were standing, holding hands, around two standing stones called Les Causeur in a field south of Eglise Saint-Guénolé in the center of town. Gaelle watched as they chanted and swayed rhythmically as a group. She knew from her days as a priestess, she could not be part of the circle, as the individual priestesses gave their power to the circle and leader, the eldest of the priestess, to amplify and see into the future.  

The priestesses swayed, tilting their heads back, chanting, but the eldest, Kermorian, bowed her head, concentrating and focusing her Sight. Images would come into focus, and she could make out their meaning, front the context of the subject or their surroundings. It was up to her to piece together the visions and make sense of what she’d seen.

Kermorian dropped to her knees. Her head bowed low. The circle stilled and quieted. Kermorian spoke, “ I see her. She has returned to Paris. She seeks her mother, to bring her back. She had killed many girls and many more will die to resuscitate the mother. She is manipulating men, and one in particular, to unearth her mother. That is all that I can see this night.”    

Kermorian, fell back on her ***, exhausted from the vision. Her second attending to her. The priestesses broke their circle and gathered around the fire, breaking breads, cakes, and drinking wine.  Kermorian weakly got up and walked to the fire, sat down on a cut tree stump and stared into the bonfire.

Kermorian spoke, and the priestess quieted. “She is back. Our sisters in Čachtice had been watching her. It is clear why she is back. To resurrect her mother, whom the French archeologists from la Musée Carnavalet are excavating her coffin.”

Kermorian waved Gaelle to her. “You are the closest to the archeologist and the mother. He will lead you to the daughter. Only then will we know how to deal with her and how to stop her from resurrecting her mother. The mother is the one who decimated our people. She must not be allowed to return. When the archeologist removes the iron stake through her heart, and the daughter feeds her blood, the mother will resurrect and seek vengeance on our people.”

Gaelle knew of the horrors the vampires had wreaked on her people. The systematic slaughter most of the druids, priestesses, vaters, and bards, killing the leaders, dispersing the followers. She then killed the men, so no fields could be tilled, gamed hunted, or women and children protected. They died by the thousands, the luck ones were taken into slavery by the Romans.  

The Celts abandoned their cities, dispersed, and hid deep into the forest of Europe. Our people hid in forests around Rennes, Broceliande, Quimper, Carnac, and Armorique.  

The Celtic culture was slowly forgotten and replaced by Gallic, then Roman, and finally French.

A small group of priestesses and druids were able to **** and stop most of the vampires. The others fled Europe, going deep into the desolate and savage Ural mountains, where they stayed until now.

The Christians and their new ways dismissed vampires, fairies, and magik even though their Holy books spoke of Lilith and her sisters in the garden of Eden, succubi, and magik.

Gaelle had seen excavation, the coffin, and Gerard. She’d gotten close to him, ****** him, and made sure he'd not forget her.
Isheanopa Zvobgo Mar 2019
You were my worst nightmare, dressed in all my favourite promises.

You are my own succubi robed in Answered Prayers,

Oh, Dear. I'll make a memory out of you.
A realm where we care,
everyone else petty, dishonest devils.
We ended up here for one reason or another.
We'll survive this hell.
Together.

I'll show you a new ballad,
dancing while it lasts to distract from the flames arise.
Show me the meaning and feel of your genius which hides like a turtle roasted for soup.
Let's make our own music,
for atheist ritual,
for you and me,
me and you.
Together.

The one that watches for you,
and you for me,
is right here.
I don't mind being there,
but I'm a Mammon for romance.

Part of my genius, I guess.

I know you prefer handsome women.
But I wait,
like a mare,
that,
for me,
you'll make an exception.

I know it's not what will become.
Life isn't what I desire it to be.
But my heart can't stop wailing and crying like a banshee,
especially when I need you to save it from the succubi of my life.

You probably don't know about these,
my words and thoughts of my own Shakespeare gone tragic.

But,

I hope for this,
for us,
and the life we bring about,
create,
and share,
hand in hand,
eye to eye,
mouth to mouth,
heart to heart.
Together.

— The End —