a ficlet
No pairings! *laughs evilly*
I don't know, there's just something about you that makes me want to fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness. I want to worship at your most holy altar, feel your wrath come down on my bare back, the criss-crossing of the lashes like a bitter lattice.
I want to make offerings at the foot of your idols, jade and gold and pure ivory and something blue and beautiful and full. I want to bow my head and feel your presence surrounding me, omniscient, all-knowing, hungry.
I want you to take and take, take what I have to give, what I shelter from your cold gaze. Then I want you to take until I am so empty like the spaces between iron bars in the hottest jail cell in Texas. I want you to burn for the fire that I keep for you.
I want to see the ruby droplets spilling in a dazzling shower down your chin, and I want to feel deeply, endless as a hand reaching into the sky.
You put a geas on me with every thoughtless glance.
And only know does the orange-robed initiate find that it is not enough to give. I want you to set your rains down on me, mild and cup-handed, and give birth to the fields of gold that strain for your sanctified blessing.
Sometimes I want to turn away. Sometimes I close my eyes and I reach for you, and there is nothing but myself, but the sad apathetic hunched figure of a child. I rock back and forth but no mother stays my restless movement with a steadfast hand.
I wait and I wait, but the ritual fires ground themselves out in their wooden harvest bowls before you even see that your temple is in ruins.
Ariana
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