Whenever I close my eyes, there in the darkness I find happiness which is as great and good as that rumored wisdom of doing nothing, not because of complacency, but because it is exactly what should be done. In silence I sow the seeds and no ill grows in my garden, with a finger on my lips I sit on the throne of leaves, curled around roses of ruby gold that have yet to flourish, protecting the germ of origin. But once I wake up, the light pierces me like a sword and casts upon a terrifying realization, that of planting seeds not in the endless sea of creation but in muddy shores, and I abandon the ideas I’ve carefully nurtured, afraid of the failure in the crop. Had I known they were lotuses, who travel unblemished on troubled waters and bloom magnificently as nature dictated them to be, I would’ve never done that. Vile logic dictates humanity will never know which produce will come out of a random seed planted in a dream, which can be anything ranging from good to bad, but that’s our problem and not nature’s. If I discard every single one, nothing shall grow, so I’d rather nurture them slowly until they are strong enough to survive, whatever they might become.

My body is cold and the blood that nourished me is starting to dissipate, I crawl from under the petrified remains of myself and watch as it crumbles apart bit by bit. It is important for me to observe this transition, to know how ugly I was yesterday and how ugly I will appear to be in comparison to tomorrow. The snake is always changing its skin in order to be a bit closer to the one who gave birth to it, which ages and degrades every day while hopefully growing in size. I clap my hands twice while looking at the bodies put one over the other around me.

-All of you roll. Roll!

The maids and male servants are immediately awakened from their morning languidness and are quick to throw themselves at my feet. With a placid countenance I kick them away and crouch to wipe my feet with a dry towel, yet they do not budge: the same tigers and lions I’ve risen have now learned to bite me, and it was all good while I partaked in their presence, but now that I don’t they find fate unfair. Fate is whatever that’s thrown and nothing more. In any other day, I would’ve humored their unworthiness with an equally lowly disposition and a veiled secret on my lips of honey, wearing on my hips the flower girdle woven by bees. But if I cannot control them, there’s no use in keeping the hounds.

I open my fan and swipe vertically, invoking a wind that crashes upon the walls and destroys a part of the building, the immediate collapse of a stretch of the ceiling buries them into a pile of crushed limbs and splattered organs, red of blood with red of wine indiscernible. My eyes are very heavy since I’ve yet to fully awaken, so all I manage to accomplish is the bat of the third eye who distorts the space time in a spiral of destruction, consuming all their wretched cries and vengeful pledges that will be etched to the back and front of my brain. This is not how things should be done, in wanton power of destruction, but if ever be reached a point where too much is too much, limbs cannot go unharmed, sacrifices must be done.

The hateful light of the sun pierces another ray on the remains of my sanctuary, highlighting that which I have discarded. Feeling gloomy, I dress a bit more conservatively, veiling my breasts to hide my weakness, and head to court early, something Michael will no doubt be glad to hear about.

On my way to the court, through this narrow and dark passageway, I contemplate the state of the Empire. I alone cannot make better use of the weakened realm my father has granted me, and my brother though capable, I can now see why he’s not fit to rule. Like this tunnel, he’s too narrow minded, seeing only the light at the end and enumerating those who come as if they went one by one. Didn’t he know that everyone came at the same time? Us both will make do for now, but to what point? I didn’t care at the beginning, but someone has to get things done. For each wise man seeking exile, half a million unenlightened shall seek redemption.

A guard turns to announce my presence and I silence him with a look. If there’s anyone who needs to know of my bad temper today, it will undoubtedly be him who has worked tirelessly to despise me. I assume my position while absent mindedly climbing the steps, but only now I notice that the court is completely empty. Exchanging a glance, I enquire the guard about this situation. Bowing solemnly, he does his job.

-The officials have returned to their homes in order to celebrate the Empress’s birthday. All cases are being redirected to Prince Michael’s office.

I bang the armchair out of rage. When did mother’s birthday become a date for celebration? When did mother came to be in any particular date? Michael that idiot, he completely failed to keep the nobles at bay, now we’ll face a brutal attack. Clenching my teeth, I leave the hall and encase the structure in spiky vines. Crouching out of the deepest layer of hell, they stick to the walls, contracting with the intention to crush, to convey my wrath which is to swallow them whole, leaving not one bone to tell of their existence. Now I know why I’m at such a bad mood, everyone seems to have conspirated against me!

Great! If they can cower at their homes and find allies amongst themselves, if Michael can return to his shell like a crab and consider hogging all the power to himself – ludicrous, for he is nothing without me – then I, too, can gambit on a losing hand and weaken all sides. It’s not only them who know to lose nine hundred to kill a thousand.

Closing my eyes, I throw the fan to a location far away, where it will not find its itself back to me, and voice my will to the unseen stars in the sky.

-Hear me my own words which could not shew their splendour, for not of this world is the dark shine of surrender: head sawed on sacred sword, blood drips on tainted cup; charred skin on spiked shield, dying hearts beneath the wheel. Broken, battered, brittle, blurred: slay the slave, despise the cur.

I bite my tongue fiercely and fork blood out of my snake tongue, it flows in dark-red particles, they fly shortly and spray the intricate floor, piercing through steps of silver and gold in sizzling black and putrid smell. My children will rise, renewed, stronger, unchecked by the cold touch of debauch introduced by myself, and that time and time again require extinguishing with heated flame. Men, surely, but more woman: much more woman, more silver and more moon. I’ve grown sick of watching this lavish gold on my harem, whenever I look at it, or think of it, I recall that fool who really thinks he can do everything by himself.

They will have paler skin and will not care for bleeding wounds, hair of black above the ground and red lips full of my blood, which in no time they will be begging to suck, for it is the blood of the phoenix. Their dresses will be cut short and in court they will be naked, for they need not fear anything, and will be my weapons and my flesh in disguise. And their steps will be swayed left and right, for it is in their nature to have one foot in the land of beginnings and the other on the realm of endings.

-Set forth my children, my sisters and my lovers, you are me and I am you, and naturally the ones I trust the most, for now at least... Seek lodge in that closed off chamber, lie in wait for patience to avenge. You are love and you are hatred, one day be fear and you shall be nothing.

They walk away after a graceful curtsey. All natural, for I am after all the most graceful. Their waists wave seductively, like the movements of a dancing serpent, and I know that those that walk like that will not err. However they need more, I need someone wise to set the records straight.

Through closing my eyes, a third is open and I see. It is a producer of wounds who finds the flaw in beauty and the beauty in the flaw. How strange that one such creature exists in this plane, I had thought my father banned them all, and immediately my passions are rekindled. Though I have no servant to order around, the newborns left untrained, I can still find my way between the twists on the road of the imperial city and find this man, for at one point he surely hid in a cave to escape the previous ruler’s mad antics, but aware he is of my vision, I’ll certainly find him at the highest peak of a forked path.

I speedily board my iron cage, lifted by two strong bulls, and travel to the solitary mountain peaks which are covered in golden wheat, forever beautiful, perhaps too small in size however. I remember ten years ago it was shining like the rays of the sun, and not so hateful as I now think it to be. Only a shallow patch of ground remains, but alas, the important thing is that it remains, and that no one has deigned to pluck the seventh thread that is the only salvation of this land, the stalk of bountiful love.

His abode is not the mountain however, where the goats climb alone to look back into the distance they have walked, the journey through barren and bountiful, the lowest and highest point. I will not find any sage in such a place, but someone who has experienced much, and through the words unvariably distorted he will tell his ways. Cursed be him who says do this and do that, and not follow your fate wherever it leads you, for he is the healer that has never tasted of your blood and has only a faint idea of how it flows.

No, a sage will dwell much higher whilst being nevertheless in the plane. He’s on the mountain but not of the mountain, for the moment he symphatizes with one sphere, he is saying this here is my home and I shall not budge an inch, and I am the fool who felt the tiger’s embrace. Indeed, there lies a stairway for the highest tower, and it is one which a person cannot tread upon carelessly. The eternal spiral of beyond knowledge: circling through the same point, but on reaching that point being elevated.

The hours pass and sweat trickles from my pristine skin into the impenetrable ground, rolling down to the first stair, I figure. The sound of smashing is faintly heard, and minutes later I find the true warrior-philosopher that is sought after by travelers. His back is muscular, his body large and sturdy, not because the flesh is beautiful and the material is sought, but because transcendence of the mind accompanies the ascension of the body, and weakness is not to be found anywhere. The scars are numerous on his bare back, and one can see they are both old and fresh, and each new wound is made deeper to remind him of the most important question: what can you give? You will give this and that, and the world shall continue to ask you to abandon things. Once you say “no, that I cannot give”, which is what you hold the most precious, then the world shall say “this is the name of the knife that will wound you”, promptly stabbing you with that which has never been yours.

And what of his bloodied hands adorned with gloves full of tears? They have reached the highest point, where he acts like a mason with the hammer and nail. But the structure is complete, it is impossible to build anything that is not, ultimately, ephemeral. With those hands, destroy what exists and by doing that you shall further ascend, like the monk topples down in a single day what took years to build, so must the sage crush with his hands the temple in which he is sat upon. See! This is the nature of the man or woman who knows death!

I shout to grab his attention, and the ancient one, with wrinkled skin encrusted with scars made by fire and eyes that possess the depth of a sea with the strong will of a demon, glances at me for a trifle second, never deigning to stop his work of art.

-You, old philosopher, we are now in need of you and like it or not you will descend into a pitch of snakes – I command.

Ignoring me for the most part of an hour, the ancient finally glances at me and states, begrudgingly.

-Leave. My work is not complete and I shan’t stop until then.

Chuckling, I toss him a sword and a sickle.

-You see a man falling and a part of you falls with him. That you climbed so high has a necessity that others have fallen too low! You have stepped on skulls to sit on your throne, now you must go back to crush them!

Taking up both weapons, the man stops his path of destruction and snarls.

-Your thoughts I read them all, half-princess of halved eyes. Your ruthlessness is comparable only to the one who meddles. Too fierce, too explosive, your delight knows no bounds and it ends in vice. The dissipation of power has consumed you... But I see a small, fickle flame.

Not bothered by his opinion, I state mine with the same conviction. Two people of different paths ought to appreciate in each other the strength in which they follow it.

-It is not kindness that leads me, but the will of destruction forged in the depths of the earth, at its core.

With a smile that seems to hide many things, as if laughing at some sinister joke only he is aware of, the ancient approaches me.

-To be kind is to be ruthless, to oneself first and foremost. If you are serious in changing this rotten world of debauch and luxury, of mad logic and indolence, then start with what you don’t want to change. Accept that which you most hate.

Saying thus, the old man extends the sickle and with one swing he pierces my flesh from the solar plexus and hangs me by the precipice. Gritting my teeth, I feel the blood draining quickly and dropping to the base of the mountain. Afraid of pain I am not, but needless suffering is also pointless. The age where one needed to be hammered into a cross and bled to death to pay for one’s sins has long passed, this one knows as much, but is poisoned nonetheless.

Closing my eyes, I struggle to utilize my powers, but the earth is too far away to do anything. I’m uprooted.

-The moment you cast it aside you embarked on a journey. Now you know better, things must end at the beginning - saying thus, he flung me back to the foot of the mountain and faster than me he jumped down. A loud bang followed his fall, destroying, now, the mountain, the goat and the wheat.

I see. Nothing escapes destruction in following the right path. What I thought existed outside and was beautiful and marvelous, in fact is but within me. Closing my eyes in expectation of my death, I open my arms and smile, for if the trip is to be disdained then the rewards will amount to nothing. I’ll follow my path, careless where it might lead me, and destroy one part of this skin which I feared to lose.

But the impact never comes, the explosion of change that will start with me and will turn over these lands. I float one inch apart from ground and though I want to curse someone, for at any moment I might change my mind, in the other I am silent. The ancient stares at me from the crater.

-There is a specific place to die and you have yet to reach it. For now, your lesson shall be this one.

Wielding the hammer on one hand and a giant nail on the other, he grabs me by the back of my head and punctures my skull. Each blow makes me flinch but I never lose my mind, no matter how earth-shatteringly painful and the numbness of wanting to rush through death.

-Seven nails for the seventh node which was never forged in earth’s core, hammered seven times each until completion. This is your map. And here, this is worthless to me, only you can use it.

The old man flicks his finger and a black dot is shot through my forehead, adding two marks to my third eye. I have no perception of how much time has passed, as considered previously, I might as well not have this notion at all, but what matters is that by the time I am capable of thinking over the previous matters, the newbloods surround me and lovingly serve me a cup of pure red, with no conflicting element that refuses to mix itself harmoniously. It has been long since I’ve last tasted such good wine, so I bestow them their rewards while asking for the latest news.

-What has happened in the court while I was away?

The servant bows, not ingratiatingly, but solely because she feels deep respect for me, from the bottom of her heart. If it was by anyone else that’s not myself, such actions are worthless, but self-love is indeed be the most precious love to cultivate.

-It has been one month. Prince Michael has dealt with many of the affairs at court, some successful, others not. Court power has been in great part reverted to some noble parties, they had time to communicate and grow stronger. Though many traitors to the crown have been dealt with on the normal way, which is to behead them, since no one truly dies in this world, they always return, and sometimes stronger.

Massaging my temples, I down the cup to alleviate a growing headache.

-I told that idiot that killing won’t help. We must subjugate them. Where is that old man?

-Milady speaks of Rahmani? We have lodged him in Milady’s palace as a guest.

-Hmm. Good, I have a very specific position for him at court, but before that...

-Yes, Milady.

The young woman puts away my cup and smiles tenderly, with no trace of shyness or corrupt desire. She doesn’t need me to order her, sitting carelessly on my lap and weaving her legs around my waist, cooling her arms on my back and pressing her breasts against mine, a bit smaller to be sure, but a strong seed nevertheless, and I don’t particularly care that much about supple breasts as long as the attitude is right. Our skins touch slighty, and we respond by moving a bit, cause some friction, tickling and rubbing to excite the blood in our veins. I smile and capture her chin, she’s all soft and without a hint of protest, even expectation – a kind that finds joy in what’s to come but won’t be disappointed if I dashed those hopes, and won’t find within herself dull reasons to complain.

We kiss, two shiny red upper lips touching for a brief moment, followed by our lower lips, and our breathes stop to savour the taste, like that of a supple ripe fruit, its skin bright, its meaty flesh and sweet juice. We go forward naturally, parting our lips for a second, connected by a thin stream of saliva, and we kiss again, deeper, stronger, a consuming flame. We trade the air between our lungs as our tongues entwine and spiral out of control, rolling in and out of her mouth and mine, sometimes finding equal stand in the air. I caress her black locks of hair, finer than silk, as we gently fall into the cold floor and my thigh presses against her virgin flower. She moans softly, not at all surprised, and opens her legs to coil around me, holding my neck with a powerlessness that is freely given. And I, too, am without strength. In our weakness we conquer each other slowly.

Sucking her tongue which is like freshly collected honey, taking in her eyes moist as morning dew sat upon a trembling leaf, collecting her locks of hair which hold the scent of the roses and the flavor of the earth, I slide my face downward. I lick her lips, her chin, her neck: I suck on it amidst her moans, taking in her blushing cheeks and buckling hips which press forever forward in want for her own pleasure. I sink my fangs on her soft flesh, I can be wild and tear through skin and bone, but here I am soft as a milk cat with no strength in her bite – I leave my reddened mark and kiss it, as if afraid to see it flow down in blood.

-Milady...

-Shh... Tonight I am Cloto – I whisper at her ear, intruding on it with my tongue – your Cloto.

Parting her flowery lips, the tip of her tongue partly showing from the open mouth, she purses her mouth ever so slightly.

-Clo...to – her cheeks brighten with red all the more.

Swaying one hand off of my neck and to the side, her armpit is exposed and I grin, very aware of her mood and wants. I playfully sway my two hands over her breasts, curling them around her erect nipples, so soft they could be bitten off like an apple if one was careless, a voluptuous delicacy.

-Aaah~ Cloto...!

I suck on those delicious nipples, humping on her most feminine part, our sexes burning against each other and drenching with hot liquid, core of our body’s heat which is a heart born in a vulcan, source of pure and explosive fire. I squeeze her soft mounds as I move faster, and her legs clench around my hips, sometimes our wild actions disconnect our pussies, linked only by a shallow streak of our mixed juices, but like two different sources of energy they attract each other, clashing and collapsing wildly in a dance of bliss and pleasure. Those parts never stop leaking that smoldering fire, our skins slick with sweat slide against each other with ease.

In that state we remain for a long time, but similarly long is the moment we reach our final climax. Her strong legs press against my waist, careless to any consideration of hurt and expressing her full unabashed strength, and I, too, discarded gentlemess for a pure desire to satisfy my animal needs. We are animals, and we are gods, and it is fine and holy to be both.

Both focused on satisfying themselves, we thrive on the pure joy of sex gratification and stay like this, before the energy coursing through our body leaves us, and the heat dissipates. We lazily part from each other, caressing skin, admiring hair and procuring clothes, then we hold ourselves as we lift our bodies. Her dress is her own skin, lavished with gold and rubies and silver where it applies, whereas the clothes I’ve wore on the beginning of that day, I’ve learnt to lose them once more.

Parting with one fickle and short kiss, we go our separate ways with no sentimentality.

-Before I forget, call in Rahmani. Tell him I have a most suitable position for him.

-Do you wish to utter a decree, Milady?

-Indeed, your will is my will... For now. Let all of those petty fools squabbling for power know: the official position of Royal Torturer is reestablished, to be effective immediately!

With those parting words, I went for my own private sanctum. At the end of a long stagnation and rest one must return to that place after all.

-Before you go, what name have you chosen for yourself?

The woman pauses and smiles brightly.

-Stella, Milady.

Closing my eyes, I savor the feeling of the words. A deep, scarlet voluptuousness of meaning. I look at her again and wave my hands in a fickle, thoughtless manner. On the black hair of Stella a viper-green vine grows and coils it with a flower birthed by a skull, my own rose, though she wouldn’t notice until the weightlessness becomes apparent.

Smiling to hide my bitter feelings about holding court in one day at the latest, I let out a chuckle that carries those earthy crumbs on to the flames. I will be waiting for the next day. I will bring myself to it.