1With an absence of love, yet spiteful resonance of flaming eyes that see the divine, Mona's decades of slaughter and servitude continue. Each man a pig, and each pig a man - a god - confining her to silence with their accursed needs, she professes her innocence. Beneath this bloody gag lay lips that lie lustfully. But, oh, if they only knew...
Her stature somber and sentence death, she mimics ancient rites that burn away the impurity. Fires absolve oppression and filth, as blood washes away their unholy seamen - heathens, every one. She revels... and reviles, in this fornication fountain of the spirit. Unearthly is this place, this face, this grave of gods and pigs and men. Her holy hands don't pray for them.
"Sacrificial sanctuary," Mona moans, laying down before the fires and playing in the ash and blood. A shadow towers over her bent knees, his eyes familiar, and scent divine... for now, at least. Mona ignores him, and smears the blood of the wicked on her unspeakable areas, burning from self-inflicted wounds to heal with holy water. In this drunken chastisement so vaguely familiar, she is stupidly unaware of her new master.
Mona's guardian angel dances in the ashes of the sacrifice, and grants her the virginal rebirth she begs, from the death of the damned. As one master falls, another rises from its blood. Mona's angel becomes her god, and her god becomes the mortal man; the king loses his crown.
Before the fall of the dawn, more pigs rest upon her righteous brow. To Mona, man is flawed; to Mona, man is god. Accepting abuse if it fits her crusade - her slaughter - she will live on. Naught one tear can fall from her holy eyes, blazing with this mission: to find the spotless patriot whose lips pressed upon her newfound skin don't speak a word impure - a truth uncalled for. God forbid.
Reproba Sanctimonia.
Long live the Queen, for now all her kings are dead.
Notes from MacabreDivinity:
This was inspired by three drawings of mine, which you can view in my profile.