41. The Essence of Woman.
Posted on January 23, 2012
“Your services are no longer required” Slovenia whispered softly as she embraced the poan ranger, pulling him to her. The embrace was fatal. The ranger grunted and his eyes widened in surprise as her royal jambiya curved its way up through his abdomen and pierced his heart.
“Shhh.” she soothed gently lowering him to the ground as his legs buckled beneath him.
“It’s over now.” She stroked his hair softly, almost cooing to him, “There is no more pain.”
The ranger spluttered. He became hyper-alert to everything around him, as if his brain knew he was going to die and was expending every last ounce of energy on experiencing this moment. Slovenia’s words washed over him, the delicate lilt of her voice was a calming salve to the raging torrent of adrenal fear that had flooded his body. He drank in the sweet scent of her breath and lost himself in the emerald pools of her eyes. He saw his face swimming and rippling across the iris, his mouth wide open, stretched into a terrible rictus of passion by the curvature of her eyes.
An explosion of colour flashed across his consciousness. Slovenia had gently withdrawn the dagger and was slowly pushing it back up through his belly. Blood filled his mouth, the taste sweet and slightly metallic.
“Mother!” he cried, the word lost in the gurgle of blood that spilled from his lips.
“Hush child.” Slovenia crooned, a wicked smile flashing across her lips as she pulled the blade out and pushed it back in, the motion a horrible mimicry of love-making.
The ranger choked and coughed as his struggle to breathe sucked blood into his lungs. He was suddenly aware that he was not experiencing the sensation directly. Everything seemed distant and hollow, his perception of himself was no longer internal. He was outside looking in, a weightless entity hovering above the scene. He could see his broken body mounted by a fire-lit Goddess arching in the throes of dying orgasm. The vision became distant and hazy, diminishing in size as he floated higher, drawn by the pulsing energy of the firewall.
There was a final moment of clarity when Slovenia removed the blade for the last time. He saw her face, perceived the eyes of her entourage on him and felt the burning flame of anger and hate that came from Lord Jordan who was still bound and gagged but being made to watch. He let out one final, wretched gasp before his vision grayed and deathly silence descended.
Slovenia stood up slowly. She was breathing heavily and her skin was slick with sweat. Jordan was spell-bound. He had always dismissed the tales of her glamour as the pubescent fantasies of desperate men. How could he explain what he had just watched? His betrayer, fucked to death by the essence of woman.
He was hopelessly in love.