~The Man~ A Ghostly Valentine Tale


When she was feeling magical, she would take to her basement chamber and lock the door behind her. This was where she twirled and spun beneath his ethereal scrutiny. This was where she transformed herself from mother and wife into high priestess and daughter of the moon. There were no windows down there, the space made her feel otherworldly and secreted from the domestic boundaries of her present life. In this place she was safe from all distraction; she was free of the invasive sunlight and of the common clatter of the upper floors. This place was her sanctuary; this was her time for humble prayer and reflection. No one dared interrupt her once the door was shut and locked. If she had done nothing decent for them, she had at least taught them this one courtesy.
Once safely behind the door, she would reach down in the familiar darkness and choose a fresh beeswax candle and light it with a match from her apron. The scent of sulfur filled the air as golden light flickered across canning jars, hanging herbs and drying hides. She would then carefully sprinkle finely ground patchouli powder onto a cauldron of hot coals that she had taken down earlier. She bent her head, she felt the heavy mane of raven hair falling free of delicate shoulders, she breathed in deeply, disappearing within fragrant grey breath of smoke and bliss. She gently walked out of the smoke and sat down to wait. She leaned her warm back against the cool of the northwest wall. She softly closed her lavender blue eyes in serene anticipation. Her hands and feet began to tingle. Behind her eyelids, images of how she fancied him to appear in the flesh of life would sooth her aching spirit; her shoulders would then drop, yielding to an abrupt and delicious kneading of virile hands. Her face would grow warm and pink for once again he had not disappointed her, he was there, his cold fingers were digging into her fragile shoulder bones, this hurt her in such a pleasant way that she held her breath praying to die beneath his powerful possession. This badness inside of her would go away now; she could be good for a while. The coolness of him would slide over her muggy thoughts; he flew in and out of her spirit, his icy black wings caressing her damp face and hair. She knew that he was both noble and depraved, yet more and more, she ran to him, this temptation to be with him was swelling out of her control, for something about his bloodlessness made her feel fully realized.

Published by sheilarosskuhn

I write, I am an earth mother goddess...

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