CXV. The Second Conversation With Death: Canʼt Fight The Moonlight

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THE SECOND CONVERSATION WITH DEATH
The Narrator & Angus
Isle of Hoy, Orkney, Scotland
The Red Riderʼs Alcazar
Unknown, 1056
___________________________

Once Death had his heir, the second time a Scot cheated Death, was when the world was born of fire, and then, died of fire.

Red as the fiery rose, the blind woman – the Red Rider – swayed with the smoke, standing atop Thorfinn of Orkneyʼs tower. The Tower of Bones, as the Scots called it. The Alcazar of the Red Rider, the Arabian slaves said instead.

Carved from stones of pale red, the Red Riderʼs tower greeted Angus and his horse, with the mouth of the tower snarling at the sea with recompense. The jaws of hell sank into her veins as she danced with the nightʼs demons, the purest essence of an Arabian storm.

The Rose of the West, what they called the Red Rider, surrendered to the air with plumes of dark, original sin, and smoke circling around her. The blemmyae, these Chest-Eyed, headless, cannibalistic giants that Thorfinn had won in battle, when he won the Red Riderʼs hand in marriage, hissed with delight. Their barbed clubs – slick with human flesh – staring at him, beady eyes hungry for repose, for blood. When the world was reborn of fire, in this very instance, the Red Rider made that world dark: the essence of a Persian storm, ever-suffocating, a dark pit swallowing him whole.

The Red Rideʼs eyes coveted sin, sodomy, and salvation from her enslaved state. Even blind, even with no eyes, she saw all.

Beowulf, she sang in his ear, not moving her sanguine lips.

The lightning and thunder danced against the rain in a sensual way, as a belly dancer would. Angus stuck to the shadows.

"Let me in, mʼlady," Angus shouted it, as the thunder cracked in a heated giggle.

The jaws of the Red Riderʼs tower opened, hungry for his arrival.

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