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Hondoboot2
QUAESTOR PULCHRITUDINIS
That's is exactly what I was thinking, love the look of ladies on the cross from behind
.....nice glutes
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
What a view! Good picture!
Although, for these women, it is rather "Bad Moon Rising!"
malins
Stumbling Seeker
A strange moon rises to circle through the skies... it's not of this world.
It must be a dream, but what dream, what nightmare even, could hurt with such pain?
Pain so precise and piercing, everpresent and unyielding. Pain so very real that it's beyond unreal.
It must be a dream, it must be, it must be... it is.. it is ... all real but all wrong...
A strange moon rises to circle through the skies... it's not of this world.
It is not of this world, nor of you any longer...
It must be a dream, but what dream, what nightmare even, could hurt with such pain?
Dream? Nightmare? Neither has yet begun...
Pain so precise and piercing, everpresent and unyielding. Pain so very real that it's beyond unreal.
Breath it... I am real and will not leave...
It must be a dream, it must be, it must be... it is.. it is ... all real but all wrong...
It's no dream... It is not wrong... just your reality...
It is not of this world, nor of you any longer...
It must be a dream, but what dream, what nightmare even, could hurt with such pain?
Dream? Nightmare? Neither has yet begun...
Pain so precise and piercing, everpresent and unyielding. Pain so very real that it's beyond unreal.
Breath it... I am real and will not leave...
It must be a dream, it must be, it must be... it is.. it is ... all real but all wrong...
It's no dream... It is not wrong... just your reality...
Nice post, Tree!
Thessela
Beloved slavegirl
Nice post, Tree!
Tree is a poet!
AlexArts
Soul of Cinder
Show me your moon burns,
Take me as the moon burns!
Show me your moon burns,
Take me as the moon burns!
The freezing Moon
Making things real for me!
The killing Moon
Making things happen for me!
malins
Stumbling Seeker
I wake from the brief mercy of my unconsciousness.
A demon has come to taunt me.
I cannot cast him out, I cannot will him to go away, he is real, he is inside me, he owns me, consumes me from the inside out, he is my master, my world, my reality, ... my pain.
It's a futile instinct to struggle so.
Something silly telling me, just some rope and nails, surely if you just pull and push strong enough you can get off and crawl away and hide and heal and forget, it's just a dream. But it isn't. My demon, my pain, is there always to remind me, to bring me back to where I am and will stay and where there's no hiding and no healing and the forgetting comes only with the last bloodchoked gasp. I'd like to silence that silly voice that speaks as if there was anything left to live for, anything left to hope for but it won't shut up and it becomes part of my torture, under that killing moon, that wound of light in the enemy skies. Anything alive in me is allied with my enemy, and serves my brutal Master, my Pain. But I can't will myself to die, can't will my heart to stop or my breath to cease. My struggle makes me weaker and Him stronger; but when I sink spent, it is Him again who makes me struggle. So it will be to the end. That is my cross, and this is me; inseperable, it holds me, carries me, but truly it's all inside me.
malins
Stumbling Seeker
My executioner is standing behind and to the side of my cross and he picks up my ankle.
I feel him place the nail.
The tip is slim and very very sharp.
I realize it has been tempered and hardened and there is a reason for that as there is for everything.
He's done this many times. He'll be doing this all alone.
That would seem to be not so easy - when for two hands, however skilled, you've got a hammer to swing, a nail to place, and my limb to hold.
He starts by gripping my ankle and twisting in the nail, as you would use an awl or gimlet.
It's a pain that is just still bearable with gritted teeth.
The nail sinks through my skin and bites into the bone, it goes just deep enough so that it will hold on its own.
Then he can release the nail, pick up the hammer, and begin driving it deeper, and finally through.
The first blows of the hammer are careful taps until the nail is firm inside the bone.
Screaming myself hoarse now.
The nail gets thicker and thicker.
Near the head it's as thick as a finger of mine.
As it goes deeper it drives the bone apart, it doesn't punch a clean hole, it cracks the bone from the inside.
That's when I pass out.
He knows why he's standing to the side of the cross like that.
Because that's the moment I'm going to wet myself, and the post of the cross. But not him. He will stay clean. He always stays clean.
malins
Stumbling Seeker
In the dark cell, they are giving me time.
Not out of mercy.
My torture has begun already, in my mind, although it would be wrong to say that it's 'all in my head'.
It comes from what I know, what I hear from around me, and what, after my eyes have adapted, I can read from the walls of this dark place.
I guess where I'm held is just across from the Inventory of Instruments and not far from the Chambers of Truthfinding though it's hard to tell.
There's brisk coming and going of torturers as things are released from the Inventory and put to use.
Shortly after something new has been chosen from the Inventory I'll hear how a scream changes pitch or a new voice rises in agony or perhaps worst, a moaning comes to an end after a sudden shriek.
The sound is all around me.
High in the walls, above the iron rings for the attachment of chained slaves, there are openings. Channels that connect the chambers. One might think they were for ventilation, but what they do is transport the sound. So everyone of us will hear the suffering of all the others. It makes the most of the effort of the torturers, that it will not be wasted on just one, but each scream and moan they get out of each punished body serves to torture all the others as well. Soon my voice will be blended into this chorus of agony.
The writing is in front of me.
Others had their time here too, and many have scratched and scrawled desperate messages into the wall. It's futile as the only ones who will see them cannot pass on what they read. The torturers could, but they ignore such things and why would they.
Most of the messages are just names and dates, begging to be remembered but damned to be forgotten, or pleas to the gods that fell on deaf ears, or pointless accusations against the state, or fate itself.
None of these messages will ever reach the outside world, none of them have any meaning in this underworld.
But there is something else there on the wall, running beneath the scrawlings, it is not scratched in; it is written with the ink that will be most available for one kept here, it's written in her own blood. It's not an accusation, it's not meant for the outside world, it's meant for those coming in. It is not a plea, it reads almost like a creed, and yes, it is something to follow when here's where you are; it's worth committing to memory as it will give guidance on this journey into oblivion.
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I don't know what happened. I did nothing wrong. But they came in the middle of the night. I am so confused, and so naked, and shackled ... I am so scared. What is going to happen to me?
AlexArts
Soul of Cinder
Of course you did nothing wrong...
But you can hide something in your clotes... Notes, letters, amulets...
Also you can hide something within yourself... We will find it out... Later...
AlexArts
Soul of Cinder
Don't worry...Damn .... I was hoping you wouldn't think of looking there ....
I'll be gentle... Very gentle...
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