by backfromspace


That's what they are. Beautiful wings. Just like the fragile feathery wisps that carry the moth across the room. The same wisps, incidentally, which draw it unsuspecting to the candles that are simply everywhere these days.

I wonder if the moths will have wings later on. I can live to see it, now. I am, after all, immortal. Immortality feels good on an old woman. I need never regret anything ever again. I've always wanted to see Greece, the sacred places where the cultists chanted hymns to Poseidon and Zeus. Or India, to worship secretly with the followers of the spider queen Kali. Yes, India.

Like the goddesses of old I shall stretch my wings across the world. India! Greece! Cuba! I will see it all, feel it all with young, vibrant limbs, taste it with a tongue undimmed by bitter age!

It seems the poet in my son is in me, too, and no greater the talent. It hardly matters. I am a goddess now, like Hera or Aphrodite - yes, Aphrodite. Not the elder impotent mother, the young, healthy, beautiful goddess of love. None shall dare stand against my will. I shall be the queen of the night, and the moth's wings will flutter forever in the depths of my shadow!

It truly is like having wings. As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil - for I am the shadow that passes, leaving only death in my wake. Yes, a shadow goddess. My love will be as the poisons William never knew about, lurking in the moth-filled shadows. He's always been a lurker. I suspect he will lurk until the day he dies.

The other one is a threat. She must be dealt with. Rabble have no place amongst the gods.

William will do it for me. He loves his mother.

Perhaps I can use that.

Like wings, yes. Wings that spread my eternal love across the globe, the love of silence and beauty. No more love sonnets. The silence will stand alone as testament to the greatest love story the world has ever known! My love shall be as William's poems strive so desperately to become. It will reach all men, all time, until the last tower has crumbled into dust and moths flutter in the dark places where palaces once stood! My love shall be the god whispered of in the cold depths of winter. My love shall be the first piercing notes in the eternal elegy of the dead.

My love shall poison the world.


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