Dark Story

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I was born between the petals of deadly nightshade. Forty-six creatures died at my birth. I am the bane which controls and directs the flow of seasons. I am a fragment of the soul of death. My name is Poison, I am the daughter of Thanatos.

Five-hundred and forty-eight-years have passed since I was entombed. I am not a prisoner. I am not a pet. Yet I am not free. Stone walls surround me, I despise every one of them. My heart longs for the euphoria of taking lives—even just the withering of a flower could satiate me for a moment. Life means much to things that abide by the laws of time, the laws of lies. They don't know that there were never laws or rules. Nothing was meant or intended to be, it simply—was. To be or not to be is not an option. They are all just puppets in the grand production of the great comedy, humanity.

"I must know the secret of your kind, Bella Morte. I must know why you take everything from us," Man pounded on the wall, hoping for reaction. I didn't flinch. Ashen face fell into momentary despair. Dejected folds rose to reveal everlasting stubbornness on the visage of Man. He would not fail in his futile quest to discover the rhythm and rhyme of life and death, just like his forefathers he too would remain ignorant of such knowledge. Patience is a virtue I do possess, fear however, has yet to enter my being. Simply put, I will not grace a fool with a response and I will not be coerced to reveal the mysteries of my existence to a creature that does not even understand the true nature of their own. I am, that is all. Prima materia is not for me to disclose.

Man surveyed my form with his lecherous gaze. My form is similar to that of Venus or Woman, a beautiful shape for which I chose it. Equal portions yet a delicate bone structure suits my aesthetic disposition perfectly. Though my form is ever changing to fit my needs, I am pleased that I chose this prior to my capture, at least I have something to amuse myself with. If my hands are all I have so be it.

Mans eyes grew heavy with profound lust as he scanned every fluid movement of my lithe fingers. He hungered for my power and the illusion of flesh. Man, beguiled so easily by a lie yet scorned so deeply by the truth. It almost arises sympathy from within my spirit, almost.