November 15th, 2004

Mask

Door Keeper

The demon had never been pregnant before, and the urges were overwhelming. She wanted liquid blood under her fingernails, and flesh to stuff the space between her teeth. The fetus demanded constant feeding, released in her the lust to be held, to be flogged, to be bathed in cool water. Yet even as she poured life into her molded belly the child was dying.
Demons are toxic, even for Messiahs.





They captured an angel, a minor servant of the lord, a creature who froze their hands when they held him down. He maimed a murder of demons before they subdued him and carried him back to the tower.
“Sing.” They demanded, but the angel refused.
“Sing.” They pleaded, but the angel again defied them.
“Sing.” They bartered, but the angel said; “I would rather be a door-keeper in the house of the lord, than a master of your tower.”
Then the demon that carried the stolen savior revealed herself, and the angel opened its crystal throat. The song tore the demon ears and dried their bloody mouths. Demons cannot be killed, but they can die, and over and over. The angel had his song as a well, his praises were water overflowing.






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