She
Moirah - Padrona di Sorellanza
The most sinister of monsters mixes that which if horriffic, deathly, wicked, with that which is beautiful, lively, graceful. In the deepest recesses of the underdark they waited. For thousands of years they plied their craft, perfecting, developing, plotting. Would to all that is holy they had remained at that distance to us. Would that we could continue in careless states relying upon graces no longer within our grasp.
They are among us. One is missing today, two last week, more the month before. Never a word. Never any clue. Silence, deafening silence within the fog until nothing remains, save the swishing of blood in the ears and the pressure of the deepest parts of the night. Race on morning light for moments I have to draw breath and I fear even chance a prayer lest they hear me and find me in this thickening mist.
The Dark Sisterhood. Loveliest, most alluring of women. Timeless beauty upon ageless bones. Hateful core of wickedness embracing sin as a craft wrapped in such wanton, gorgeous feminine grace. Despising that form which poses as woman, giver of life, a blessing to mankind. Pillar and support to he which would aspire unto greatness. They do curse, and she above all, the form and the function of man. For their weight is too great to bear and it has severed them from humanity and the graces of Mindanto.
Mindanto creates. Mindanto loves. Mindanto gives hope unto all that call upon His name. He is blessed above all in His capacity and His certain desire to elevate and disperse love over all. But she cannot love. She cannot hope, despite her timeless ages within that hoary psyche. She cannot … create. None of her sisters can create. They are a dwindling race of super – sub humans, doomed and blessed by their own choice, steeped in regret. Minds spinning wildly out of sync with all that is right and proper and good and just. Pain in all that falls within their view. So they release that pain in the giving of pain and the destruction of all that is decent. Having crafted wickedness and deceit through maladies too numerous and horrific to bear. Each act of focused and deliberate venom another dagger through the heart of a soul long dead, tortured in a life of unlife. For even if death would come it is not possible to embrace it any longer for in order to truly die one must have a spirit to give up in the first place.
Shouldn’t I?
