* I know this is long, but I worked really hard on it and it did take research lol. I feel like something is missing and I would appreciate critiques to help me make it whole. :)


She waded the rose stained aisles
Adorned in a veil of fragrant blood
As he awaited her scent (recalled from past trials)
Of stagnant tears, and vampyric love

It was a ceremony locked
Lost,
 In unseen eyes
By a village,
Offering
The crimson bride

An angel painted in her burial gown
Whilst church bells were unsound
(Yet cultivating all in the town)
All in awe of the walking memorial
In her snow white, burial, gown

The moonlight kissed the stained glass eyes
Of the house offering the crimson bride
Hell’s arms open wide
To His daughter in the night


Her eyes
Embraced
By his
(Gone unseen
By the village)
Twas a deadly love to hide
He and the crimson bride

“ Oh why” Her eyes seemed to cry
For she was not the witch
Men had longed to try
But the sacrifice
No
The Gift
Offered to the bearer of gnosis
The espied Angel of Light
God of Ophites
Whose wife
Had run dry


Lucifer, in need of a bride
Lest succibi suffice

Lillith
Wife before Eve
That a serpent could easily deceive
Her and the village in dire need
Of the fruit
From the wise tree

                      Lucifer’s anointed intercessor never left the crimson bride
With his eyes
His darling,
Dahlia,
In disguise.

“Isn’t she beautiful.”
A voice behind him whispered
“Breathtaking.”
Another replied

He stirred
Still staring
At her lips
Through the veil she was wearing
       She slurred him a silent warning
“Don't give me away”
To heed until mourning

The ceremony, none surprised
For the plagued village needed answers
Only The Angel Of Light could provide
The cost?
Offer the fairest maiden for a bride.

It was Dahlia the man in white chose
Adorned in paradoxical priestly robes

She possessed porcelain skin
And fragile lips
Of rose hips
A Fate's angel of sin

It was during a sermon
when the layman voiced the last fair maiden
had outlasted her use
And so that the village may taste truth
Another was
To be offered
In a veil bathed in blood
and a pure gown, untouched ( as she )
The sacrifice was to die a bribe
To the Angel of Light
(Hence the Crimson Bride)

Though she always thought the town crazed
She accepted her fate
For there was no "after escape"
 None other than miles of forbidden earth,
 Where tales of dark Fae, and wraiths were birthed

(It was naive and isolated
The perfect piety)

The night her name was offered
His heart tore
For just before
John was called to be the intercessor:
The one to release her

He watched her graceful footsteps across the aisle floors
Her body that he had taken
Tasted
Many nights before
His tongue grazed his fangs in desire
That he hated himself for
(He was the one to release her)

Her feet still obeyed
Walking to her fate
  
All eyes stalked her
As she drew near
Now face
 To face
With him
Her face
Cold
With fear

Their eyes entwined
As he fantasized
“ If only she were truly mine”

It was then the priest approached
“Book of Serpents” in his hand
Bophomet around his neck
As his voice bellowed,

“ Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join these two fellow servants of the serpent in calling upon the great Lucifer to consecrate this place again.
Oh great Lucifer, grant us your wisdom, your love and light. Release your people from this plague as we release from this earth, your bride.”

Dahlia took her forbidden beloved’s hand
(His fingers insisting)
The priest then permitted for the "best man"
The deacon draped in black:
Bearer of the ring best fitting
( Once young when anointed
Now aged with every bearing of the ring)

 The decayed deacon unclothed the ritual knife
And mechanically took her hand
Hastily slicing her palm
Writhing her arm
as she bled on the alter
Wincing only slightly
(As did every Crimson Bride)

The ring was then offered to the intercessor.
It was of ancient silver
Onyx heart in the center
Then placed on her finger.

It was then he felt the pulse in her hand
(He could not stand to look at her)

 Her mind wried with every ceremony before
When her eyes were only the spectator
Safely reciting the creeds
(She did not even believe)

She felt the frost in his hand
She could not stand to look at him


The house with glass eyes cried out one voice
“ Oh great Angel of Light
We offer Our lovely Sprite
Unto Thee
In hopes Thy wisdom shine upon Us.’’
They drank their creed in bovine blood
“ In remembrance of Thee”

Then all in unison
“ Hail Lucifer”

The priest then wiped his fangs and continued
“ Do you, John, take Dahlia, to release from this earth so that her spirit may be binded by Our Great Angel so that Our village may prosper in wisdom.”
He clenched her hand; he still could not stand to look at her
He struggled to steady his voice
“ I do”
( It was then he felt her hand faint in his)

There was but only one vow
The Chosen hadn’t a choice

The priest then presented John with the ritual knife.
“ You make now take and release the bride”

He took her in his arms
(As ritual permitted he was now ‘ in the spirit of Lucifer’)
                                                       Removing her crimson veil.
                                                       
She was breathtaking
He then embraced his lips upon hers
Tasting her tears
(They tasted of prey)
For it was her fear
That shredded his veins with blame


He entombed her into his chest
Whispering in her ear
“I never wanted this for you”
He wanted to take her one last time
(But their goodbyes had been said the night before)
Knowing after that night
She would breathe no more

He reeled his head back
Exposing his fangs
Cascading his teeth into her pale neck
As she spoke in the slightest breathe
“ I loved you…”

He drank in his desire
That he hated himself for

He finally locked idol, tearful eyes
On his crimson bride
And In a coward's silent breath,
“My love... ”
He replied
As he drove the ritual knife through her spine

A sharp hiss invaded her lungs
A frozen numbness muted her tongue
Her body became paralyzed
( Though still alive )
Her face fixed
Her eyes eternalized
On him

She was then laid on the alter
As the priest towered over her.
His arms entranced and bidding
As his voice boomed of self-adorned wisdom

“ Thy will be done”
( Her mind screamed of blasphemy )

Her heart sheathed the final blow
The ritual knife was not to be removed
Though the ring was writhed from her finger
And placed in the aged deacon's ancient box
(Stored for the next Crimson Bride.)

The village cried out as dawn approached
Dispersing in threes as the sun began to rise
The light piercing the stain glass windows
Painting, on the alter, the Crimson bride.

The celestial colors danced on Dahlia's skin
Like faeries dancing with the dead
They danced in her eyes
Still eternalized
On him

As if recalling a sudden loss
His legs broke, and gave way,
(Like a martyr on the cross)

His breath but a choke
His chest tight with shame

John mourned bitterly as he cradled the dead in his arms
Howling curses at all
yet heard by none.
Guilt possessed him
 Poisoning his mind
For now he saw the eternal blame in her eyes
and the Fae that danced on her skin
That sang in mockery of his sin

The venom had spread to his eyes
As sharp hiss invaded him.

 His senses conjured a serpent slithering up her spine
Staring mockingly at him
“Her life has spared your village
Now she’s mine”

With half a mind still sane he cried,
" She died to save no one, only to save vain tradition!"
( Deadly words from one among a rehearsed civilization)

He laid her back on the alter
Displayed again to mourn over her,
Longing, but not willing, to sheath the dagger into himself
As her blood stained the floor
As the Deacon’s laughter pierced the doors
John uttered to himself,
“Was it he, in spite, who offered her name as the devil’s whore?
Was it his green shadow from nights before?
Or
Have her eyes run me mad
That my ears may caste voices, and my eyes may paint a serpent on the floor?”

He clawed his fingers like fangs into his hair
As he drew back from the alter
Though never escaping her stare
For she still possessed him with her eyes
Those eyes, like a stain, infected his mind

A love that he now realized was never safe to hide
(Not when a rat nested among serpents)
And when none
but the sun
Would mourn for
The desire he hated himself for:
He for the Crimson Bride



              -Kelly Lynn Noll

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