Tarot of Terror, an account of supernatural seduction from the perspective of both demon and damned

Part one
The Voice of the Demon

 

I walk this world in peace, and nary a living soul do I harm or harass as I await the end of days. I amuse myself in the myriad ways that inhabitants of these mortal vessels favour, and I delight myself in the flesh of humanity. Giving not the slightest hint of my true nature, I calmly, patiently and even cheerfully savour the delights of the garden. As I wait for the correct alignment of the stars, for the signs that the end time is nigh, and for the fulfilment of dire prophecy.

And there is not a living soul upon this earth who guesses at my true destiny, much less suspects the imminent apocalyptic rebirthing of this realm. Which I as the only begotten daughter of the dark one will herald into being. Except of course for those who have brought me pleasure and delight, sufficient for me to embrace them unto my unholy bosom.

Those who I have marked and made blasphemous of soul, even after my own cursed image. Those who I have selected as my favourites, to be raised higher than all the others when damnation finally comes. Those who I have chosen to sit beside me as lovers and disciples, when at last I come to reign, as queen of all the damned.

Now I have no patience nor observance of those curious and ridiculous rules of propriety, which the creatures of this realm seem to favour so dearly. For I move about the society of landed and ennobled gentry, just as I stalk and haunt the gutters of the low and debased. The high and the mighty and the filth and the fury, are all as one delicious flesh to me.

Now it came to pass that I sough amusement one night, at some circus carnival or fair. But it was not as the gory circus of slaughter which the Romans favoured, in the era in which I was incarnated and made flesh. This was a far milder affair where vaulters and harlequins, clowns and acrobats, did caper and cavort gaily and soar upon their trapeze.

And as I wiled away my time, observing those dancing bears and elephants which common people find so exotic and delightful, a certain someone caught my attention. From a tent bedecked with occult devices and sigils of arcana, I perceived a mind evolved far beyond its fellows.

It was a mind more akin to mine, than to those of the mortal realm, for indeed there are those amongst humanity, who seem to transform themselves far beyond the natural. As though they somehow feel the echoes of my coming ascendancy, and sympathetically align themselves with my will.

Those who acquire genuine powers of augury and supernatural insight. Those who can guess rightly, at the cataclysm that is to come.

Dominica of the far seeing eye, revelatory of fortunes and mystic oracle, read the banner above this part ascended creatures door.

Now, so marked and so profound was the otherness of the mind that I perceived, that I was much intrigued. I craved to know who this mortal was, who had raised themselves so far above their contemporaries. And who was so much attuned by nature with my own demonic soul.

For it is told that in the times before the end, there is one who will take position at my right hand. One singular apostle who must be at my side, for destiny to unfold. And hope was raised in my heart, that perhaps my seeking for this doom companion, was at an end at last.

I entered into the carnival tent of Dominica the augurer, and was much delighted at the being I discovered. For fair far beyond the bearing of her fellows was this woman, with hair much like molten cuprum in the crucible, and eyes of glittering emerald darkened with the shadows of hidden knowledge and forbidden secrets.

And fair and gorgeous of flesh was she, such as to whet ‘la belle chose’ both flower and bud, merely at the sight of her. Pale and ghostly and delightfully freckled was she, and naturally rosy and gay of cheek. Rounded here and narrowed there, gorgeously plump and broad and delightfully narrowed, in a fashion which quite set my lust aflame.

How I craved to take her into rapture right away, to engulf her in ecstasy and agony. To set her body and soul aflame at once, with pleasures far beyond her mortal ken. But it was her mind that had called to me as a beacon in the dark, and my desire to know her thoughts and her ways, quite overwhelmed my craving to know her flesh.

So amongst banners bearing magic symbols and script writ in ogham’s, I took a seat at her table, adorned as it was with the trappings and baubles of the show mystic. But the creature that sat before me was no charlatan. No, for this augurer was something other, something other entirely.

Acute of perception far beyond the mundane, I speculate that perhaps some ancestor of hers, did at one time couple with a fallen creature. Perhaps some angel or demon seeking respite from the war that rages in the heavens, sought comfort in the arms of a mortal.

Thus lending their ascended blood, to the line that led to this creature. And supplying this Dominica the acuity of perception, which so drew me to her.

 

Part two
The Voice of the Damned

 

She entered my tent one balmy and pleasant evening, and all that I had known of the world was rendered unto ash. And all that I had known but never conceived to be real, the dark and glorious visions, and the unholy secrets which resided in my mind. They were all confirmed to be true, and not the stuff of fantastic and wondrous nightmare.

Willowy and tall as the gallows tree was she, with eyes as black and lustrous, as that magical Whitby jet. And hair so dark and so gorgeous long, which resembled in hue the blue black of the ravens wing. Dark olive was her complexion, as one born of the orient or those ancient Hellenic lands. And so gorgeous and so like the goddess was she, that I fancied her as that fabled woman of Troy, or perhaps the woman Pharaoh Nitocris of Egypt, or even Zenobia that Palmyrine Empress.

Such unholy power, such glory and such majesty did cast their shadows all about her. And I knew that she who entered my tent was no earth born mortal being. Indeed I perceived at once her noble demonic lineage, and her esteemed position amongst the invisible hosts. For a crown of flame I saw, blazing above her brow.

Look to their feet, my mother would admonish me when I was but a girl. When those who are too fair to be of mortal being present themselves to you, be it in vision or dream or waking. Look to their feet, for the beast can never disguise its cloven hoof.

But those fair and delicate feet which stepped into my tent, were not cloven hoofs as my dear mother had warned. For full to the brim was she my mother dear, with all manner of fancy and nonsense.

Indeed my mother was inclined to heed the priest most acutely, rather than the whispers of the earth and sky. For she was scared of the dark, and would ignore the truth of the visions in her mind. Choosing rather to invest her hopes and prayers, in the leper messiah’s hollow promises of eternal bliss.

And mother’s strange catholic superstitions went wholly unconfirmed, when the reality of wondrous eternal damnation, entered into both my tent and my soul.

She took a seat before me, and struggle as I did to compose my overawed mind, I began my performance. Robbed entirely of my senses and my composure, my lips spoke and my hands moved by force of habit and practice alone. With little of agency or control dictating my physical actions, for my mind was quite elsewhere. And my heart quite departed with it.

For I was lost in those magic eyes of jet, and those tresses of carrion bird black. Lost in the serpentine grace and nobility, of her sensual motion and beguiling expression and gesture. And lost in lust also for her, for my body did burn intensely with desire, merely at her presence.

For all at once my heart and mind were deluged with a yearning to worship her, to adore her and to learn the sacrilegious secrets of her body and her heart.

“Let argentum cross the palm of my hand” I heard my voice intone “and I will tell your tarot.”

And her hypnotic and enchanting gaze held mine entirely captive, and she spoke not a word. Her hand did creep inexorably towards mine, as I trembled in gorgeous agitation and terror to know the terrible touch of those hands upon my flesh.

But her hand passed by my palm and no silver was conferred, but those delicate and cruel fingers did seize upon my wrist. And I heard my lungs gasp aloud at her terrible and gorgeous touch, as that hand clamped as a vice upon my living flesh.

And such delightful hurt, such sensual and intoxicating pain did that cruel hand confer, that my heart did race and my sex did ache to know her. To lay with her in wanton sin, to be with her in carnal animal lust, my body did burn with agonizing insistence and urgency.

And then she spoke.

And her voice was as accelerant to the smouldering in my soul, and all at once I was consumed entirely, in the conflagration of desire.

“Argent…?” She asked in apparent puzzlement.

“….is silver truly the pinnacle of your desires…?”

“….of your ambitions?”

“Of your lust?”

“No….” was all I could utter in response.

And the delicious vice of her wicked hand closed upon my wrist with even greater vehemence and cruelty, as she spoke to me again in a voice like unto the song of grim angels.

“Name yourself, woman born of the Lilith.”

“Domini….” I began automatically, until the talons of that hand dug into my skin and prompted a gasp of delight and pain, from my trembling lips.

“Your name.” She insisted.

“Gráinne Ní Mháille” I answered truthfully, in the Gaelic accent and tongue which English hatred compelled me to disguise, in these lands.

“Ah….” The ghastly and angelic being cooed in delight.

“….that’s Grace as the English have it, isn’t it….?”

“Yes”

“….how very delightful.”

“Then tell me, what is it that you truly desire, Grace the child of Eve?”

“Truth…” I heard my voice whisper as if in conspiracy.

“….the truth of my visions. For I dream of a world consumed and born anew in flame, I see the world plunged into an endless ocean of agony and of ecstasy. I dream of one who brings grim rapture and excruciating joy to each and every living mortal soul.”

And in response to this, her death black eyes did burn most bright. And she seized my free wrist, and subjected it to the same cruel domination that the other did endure. And all that I was melted entirely away. And all that I knew was that exquisite pain, the fathomless cosmic depths of those onyx eyes, and the glorious song of that wicked angelic voice.

“What you see is what will be, you dream Grace O’Malley of what will come to pass.”

And she moved close to me and I was drawn into her. As inexorably as one who in grief has cast themselves from a cliff, to be dashed against the rocks of sweet oblivion below. And her lips were as close as a whisper and her hot sweet breath mingled with mine, as she whispered once again.

“And who is it that you see in your visions, who ushers in this age of wonders. Who is it who rules as empress and queen supreme, over this realm of joyous flame?”

And I answered.

“It is you.”

 

Part three
The Voice of the Demon and the Damned as One

 

“And do you fear the flames…?” she whispered, in tones impossibly beguiling and at once supremely erotic, and deliciously frightening.

“….do you fear the ecstasy of pleasure and pain made as one?”

“No” I uttered with desperate vehemence and agitation, as if in my confession I had willingly and happily betrayed all of creation.

And those lips moved closer yet, so close as to be almost upon my own as they whispered sweetly.

“And do you fear me…?”

“….do you fear the queen of eternal damnation?”

“Yes” I gasped in desperate urgency, as the veins in my wrists thumped and pounded under the grip of this impossible being.

“And do you love me for it?” she growled in tones guttural and demonic, carrying the heat of her carnal intent in their whisper.

“Yes!” I cried emphatically, as the wicked admission leapt from my heart as truth, and I cast myself into the abyss of her, so she might engulf me whole.

And in that moment I surrendered all that I was, unto this empress of damnation. And the visions which had so tormented my mind at once became clear, and at last I understood.

And at last those lips were upon my own, and kingdoms fell before the glory of that kiss. She bore me to my gypsy caravan that night, and baptized me in an ocean of bliss. Such wondrous pain she did afflict upon me, such delicious cruelty and such monstrous joy.

With tooth and with talon the demon of damnation, did scourge my mortal being. And with touch and tongue she did show me gorgeous agonies, beyond my comprehension. Her teeth upon my swollen breasts and proud stimulated nipples. Alternating pain and pleasure both, until the two became wholly entwined.

Scourging the flesh of my gasping throat, with her wicked and delightful cruel hand. Compelling my moans and sighs to issue forth as guttural and urgent gasps.

And then at last after untold aeons of torment, her lips were upon my lust starved mouth, and her tongue at my stiffened and aching bud. And copious in its lubriciousness was my hungry little cunt, and my fervent need became as enslavement and I submitted ardently to its chains.

And my glorious queen did lap and lick, and cast me into an endless ocean of carnal bliss. And dragging me to the horrifying brink of wondrous damnation, she raised me brutally by my hair, and bid me gaze into the abyss.

And an eternity of endless ecstasy, a forever burning inferno of tormented flesh, was revealed unto my wide astonished eyes.

She showed me the glorious heights of heaven, and the scorched and smouldering plains of hell. And as she compelled my mortal body through extremities of pleasure and pain, she taught to me the ultimate secret that had never before been revealed, to one born of Eve.

There is no heaven and there is no hell, for they two are in truth one. And there is no Satan and there is no god, there has only ever been the one.

And when at last she had fulfilled herself, and quieted her lusts upon my lips and tongue, she took me in her arms. And so I lay naked, and born once again in the inferno of her lust. Her arms now gentle and supremely loving, enfolding and comforting me in her regal domination.

And her embrace became as leathery silken wings, which soothed and protected me all throughout the night. And I dreamt the dreams I always knew, but this time with the revelation of opened eyes.

For I saw her as she truly is and as some day she will be. Queen of innumerable mortal worlds, plunged into gorgeous damnation eternal. And who was it that sat at her right hand, numbered first amongst her disciples?

Who was it that was mother to her delightful and demonic incarnations? Who was it that sat beside her as first among her wives, and who ruled along beside her? With all creation in the palm of her gentle and cruel hand?

I tell you that in my dreams it was I, and from that day I followed her ever after.

And so we walk this world in peace, and nary a living soul do we harm or harass, as we go about our way. We amuse ourselves in the myriad ways that inhabitants of these mortal vessels favour. And we delight in the flesh of humanity, giving not the slightest hint of our true nature.

We calmly and patiently savour the delights of the garden, as we wait for the correct alignment of the stars. And for the fulfilment of dire prophecy.

Unless of course we find one of who proves worthy to be as her disciple, one who pleases both her and me, and who welcomes eternal damnation. These we take unto our embrace, and invite to burn in the inferno of her bed.

But through all the centuries long it has proved true, that I will always be at her right hand. Always first amongst her disciples and her wives, and mother of her unholy children.

And still we wait for the day when she, will at last ascend the throne of thrones. And I will abide forever more, alongside my wondrous queen of damnation.

 

The End
Thank you for reading

Whippoorwill X

 

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