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May Prompt: Wheel of the Year (Sabbat Rite) fpr [community profile] musing_way

([personal profile] melek_taus May. 14th, 2012 02:46 pm)
The world was spinning; careening out of control and at the centre of it was Melanthe. Before a well-stoked fire and beneath the night sky, she whirled derrvishly. Her skin had been annointed with baneful, herbs rendered in vegetable oils and rendered animal fats. Each one had been selected to enhance her awareness until it neared a mad, visionary state. Even beneath the thin shift that she still wore, the scent purmeated the cloth. Her pupils dialated yet alert even in the firelight. The Witch with wild eyes, gyrations and hair knew well what she had come to this place for. It was alll for the summoning, to gain aid from inhuman allies that could help them in this war.

She could feel him Watching her, as he always would in times like these. Safety during the conflict was her objective, though it was clear that there was to be no real safety that was certain since the world had fallen down.

Melanthe smiled. She liked the infernal beast in spite of childhood warnings against his kind. She had rushed, even as a child, headlong into the indultent embrace, nearly always getting exactly what her heart desired. Surely, for her service over these seven years, tonight it would be the same.

"You have something for me, I believe." a strong male hand with long, artistic fingers was held out in front of the woman. She jumped back with a start, the smile now faded from her lips even as her pulse quickened and her eyes became as wild as her hair. The light of the full moon was just starting to crest over the horizon, it was large and reddish cast and made oak and blackthorn look as if they were tinged with blood.

Dark eyes and even darker hair covered her face. She had been beautiful, very beautiful in fact, and not so long ago. Acrid smoke, heavy with copal, baneful herbs and the tang of blood hung in the air. Through the wafts that curled like caressing incubi and succubi hovering in the air between them, she saw his face.

Before her was the terrible beauty that had haunted her. The Witch's knees grew liquid and she went to bow, but thinking better of it, she knew not to flinch before him. As a young woman, an ambitious woman, with a scarred heart and revenge ever-present on her mind, He had answered her cal. When she plied him with gifts, first a pullet then two, along with food, fragrance, gold, and beads draped over her then-young naked and nubile form. He had taken them, taken them all willingly, gladly and had given her what she asked for in those days. He warned her that there would be more that she would have to offer. She would have to render the greater things that he wanted. Such barters was the way it had been, always been, from the beginning of time.

"You have but to ask my Lord," she said at last. She tugged at the edge of her cloak, revealing a flash of bare, milk-white flesh. Her bare breasts were still somewhat firm and proud, but not near what they had been in the beginning. About her neck and as a counterpoise to the waves of heavy tresses, hung the lapis, obsidian, raw emerald, and gold beads dedicated to him.

Melek reached out and stopped her from disrobing, but not before noting his mark that had been freshly and painfully tattooed on her left hip. His eyebrow arched and he looked as if he was irritated rather than pleased at her latest offering of flesh. Perhaps she wanted him to consecrate it for her. But he was not in the mood for indulgence.

"I wish for you to keep me informed of what you know from both the Council on the Holy Isle and also if you can find out as much as you can. Make arrangements with the High Lady and inform her that I wish to see her."

Melanthe slipped from his grasp, her eyes flickered with jealousy. "Why?" she spat. Then letting the dark silk garment slide off of her upper body until it caught at the cords that had been tied around her waist, she moved closer to Melek once more push herself against the Demon. ""What can she give you that I cannot give you more of - or better?"

"A means by which to speak to those who far outrank you." Melek's response was cold, but he reached out to pinch one of her nipples between his fingers until she moaned and writhed in near ecstasy. He held her there, watching, and reminiscing about the dark oaths she uttered as a young woman, promising herself into his service. At last he bent down, lips stooping like a bird of prey, latching into hers. It was as if they would begin anew the inhuman and bone-crushing waltz that had bound her to him, causing her to take his mark, and bind herself to him. She was pulling at his garments, seeking the heat of his skin. Breaking the kiss, he pulled closer to her ear, whispering in the ancient tongue spoken only by angels and Fae, both the redeemed and cursed. She will not speak it herself, but she would understand, he knew.

"Renich, Lithcaladh, Melanthe."*

Melanthe's eyes flew open wide and she pulled away, mouth and eyes wide and gaping in the form of a silent scream. Almost apart from herself she nodded, shaking. Had it been the power of the words he had uttered, or had it been the herbs within the flying salve that she had slathered over her body finally taken ahold of her mind? Suddenly weak, Melanthe's legs came out from under her. She slid to the ground, lost in a trance that caused her only to be able to nod idly. Responding in guttural tones, she struggled repeatedly and failed to speak with any coherence.

Melek gave her a smile and a gentle kiss upon her forehead as he would a small child. "And after you do this for me, my dear," he said,"you will receive your just reward."

The shadows of the forest, opened and closed as a dark cloud slid over the moon. Melanthe blinked and he was gone.




Translation:
Renich, Lithcaladh - Remember, Melanthe.




Muse: Melek Taus / The Peacock Angel
Fandom: Folklore / Mythology / Religion
Word Count: 1068
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