They say I come as an angel of light, that I am beautiful.
They Lie. I am ancient and my visage might once have been admired, but now it is feared. I am part angel, part animal, like you, but my form is older and my loves far deeper. You will not fall before me in love, but in fear.
All beauty is relative. When my kind were more plentiful I was admired. Just as fashions change in your world, the eternal also morphs and changes to its own impenetrable dictates.
I am alone. I call you to me with favours and gifts. I ask nothing but that you give your soul to me, that you pledge to stay. I eat you all in my way, swallowing you down. Because you never fall at my feet in love, only fear.
Who are you to judge, you little creatures, made of sinew, bone and blood? You live brief lives, as inconsequential as a butterfly, and less beautiful. You should have some idea of what it may be to be less lovely, for you age and wither. But you do not. You do not.
And so you never come to me with love, only with fear.
Then let it be fear. And let there be blood. I will feast on that if I cannot have your love.
(c) Helen M Valentina 2019