"Moist, with one drop of thy blood, my dry soule"

January 3, 2010

She stood in the doorway smiling at me, dark hair loose around her shoulders, her dress torn as I had—but no, she lay on the floor at my feet, warm skin growing cold, mouth open in an inchoate scream.

“Look what you’ve done, my love,” she murmured. “You’ve killed me.”

“I did not mean…” I whispered. “W-we were to marry. Why did you—”

“Reject you?” she said, moving toward me. “I told you, our love is not bound by this pathetic mortal coil. This was a test.”

“A test?” I repeated. “You acted as if you didn’t know me!”

“And you stood strong.” She caressed my arm, pacing around me. “You held me as Menelaus held Proteus, and now you see my true form.”

“But—”

“Hush.” She placed a finger on my lips, and a knife in my hands. “The test is not yet over. Now you must join me, that we might live in eternity together.”

As the last of my heart’s blood pooled on the floor, my mind was opened. I knew her for the dream witch that she was, and I knew myself to be a murderer. Then, mercifully, I knew nothing more.

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