Christiablo and her faithful hound Cere sat close to the fire of their camp. They were in a clearing near the stream, deep in the woods. The young demon had finished roasting the meat she had procured as casually and quietly as possible at the market on the outskirts of the village. The tradesman didn't seem to pay any particular attention to her at first but was staring by the time she had paid the coins and taken the wrapped food. She hurried away.
It was ready. Christiablo put it on the plate, waited several moments and then cut it into strips. For the first time, she expressed an utterance of gratitude for sustenance and gave Cere more than half on his plate. He looked at her quizzically; also for the first time, he ate cooked, not raw meat—and with enthusiasm.
They enjoyed the moment.
It had come time to prepare. The hellspawn put things in order and knelt by the flame. In her young life, as she had done every season on this night , she prepared to panegyrize.
But on this Halloweve it was different.
Midnight struck. The Spirit Of Darkness washed over her.
But instead of bringing an orgiastic howl of praise for The Prince, it brought a vision of clarity.
The Darkness. The Light. The One.
She and Cere sat and rested and watched the fire late into the night. They bayed at the moon and Christiablo laughed and Cere wagged his tail.
The breaking of the dawn found them sleeping by the fading embers.
The sleep of the no longer damned.
Written Content G.A.M. cc
Christiablo™ Running From The Devil ©2011 G.A.M.
Absolute Black Kriscole
---------------------------------------------------
RSS Feed
Shots Of Silver™ 2012