The Crescent

By Alterra Von Feuers 2008

I’m walking up the steps to a lovely old mansion. The Architecture seemed to be of the earlier century, perhaps early 1800, maybe earlier. I let myself in through large double doors to find people gathered comfortably, standing or sitting and chatting. The atmosphere is pleasant as I walk among them as if I knew them. Yet I could not define faces or clothing for the most part.

A lovely middle aged woman walks up to me hand outstretched. "Where have you been, we’ve been waiting for you." She smiles at me. Her eyes were an amazing gray. There is a diamond-bright quality to them; not anything glowing or weird, just amazing.

I take her hand and smile back. "Yes it has been to long hasn’t it?" I knew her from somewhere distant. She leads me into another room, which appeared to be a Ballroom of a sort yet it was set up for ritual. Rather dark except for candlelight. Candles glowed from various places as she led me to a raised platform of sorts. A man steps out of the shadows, yet his face is still in shadow. I could, however, see the masculine outline of his face and his voice was definitely male.

"There you are." He speaks in a soft deep voice. "We’ve been waiting for you." With his hand taking mine. I felt the strength in him, the power he bore thrummed through my hand racing across my body and I felt a delightful enthrallment that was so familiar.

"It has been to long " I say back with a sadness of lost time.

He holds my hand as the woman lays me across the table. Another younger woman appears at my feet. They unclothe me and lay me onto my right side on the silk draped platform. I felt perfectly comfortable with this as if reliving a memory of old.

He takes out a small silver athame and raises it as he chants a few words in another language. He brings the athame down slowly cutting a small crescent shape into my side along the lower ribs. I watched him as he did this. I felt the blood began to run down my stomach and down my back in a hot trickle.

He looks at my face as he lowers his-own face to my wound, speaking words I found myself repeating. Licking the blood then gently sucking the wound. And yet, I kept repeating those words in a soft chant.

He moves toward the head of the table leaning over me then cuts the same small crescent shape into his lower forearm. Then suddenly shoved it into my mouth. I found myself swallowing hard and fast suddenly unable to breathe. I woke with the scent of him in the air and the taste of his blood in my mouth.