The second part of The Thorn and His Rose, Intermission: Mutual Dreams. The first part can be found here!
In Intermission: Mutual Dreams, Lady Valkyrie finds herself exiled in a desolate Hyperborean palace, haunted by memories and an insatiable longing for the dark presence of Dyer-Bolique. As his looming shadow stirs her deepest desires, the line between pain and pleasure blurs, igniting an intoxicating obsession. Their fateful encounter culminates in a tantalizing union of flesh and soul, weaving love and violence into an exquisite tapestry of longing and surrender. As they navigate the depths of their twisted bond, will their mutual desires lead to salvation or damnation?
Summary
- Trapped in Isolation: Lady Valkyrie resides in the empty remnants of a Hyperborean palace, grappling with profound loneliness and haunting memories as she awaits the return of Dyer-Bolique.
- Forbidden Longing and Desire: As Valkyrie’s yearning intensifies, she succumbs to the seductive pull of Dyer-Bolique, culminating in a passionate and dangerous embrace that merges their souls while blurring the line between ecstasy and agony.
- A Dance of Obsession: Their union unleashes a tumultuous exploration of love and possession, where the boundaries of life and death entwine, revealing the dark depths of their eternal connection as they prepare to confront the consequences of their violent desires.
Intermission: Mutual Dreams
Mutual Dreams I
Lady Valkyrie, exiled to Hyperborea from an unforgiving world,
Sits in the remnants of a huge palace.
Empty and desolate,
Only her maid in waiting to speak to.
Tapestries, weaved by her own hand hang on the stone walls,
Sparse gothic furnishings echo the vacuum within her own heart.
She is not able for sewing, nor for crafting her poetry.
Her senses, her sub-consciousness,
Her entire being seems to preoccupy the mind.
A voice she cannot place,
Or a face she cannot quite remember emerges,
Haunts her waking nightmares.
She almost anticipates his arrival as if he speaks to her from afar.
Valkyrie wonders at the fairy-tale her mind creates,
Consequence of eternal isolation.
Eternity, such a lonely, barren landscape.
She retires to her chamber,
Palatial gothic suite; mahogany four poster bed and chaise-longue.
An eloquent balcony sealed by two great glass doors create a mirror to the world.
Drapes and linen match the wall hangings, almost glowing by candlelight with a deep scarlet hue.
Valkyrie unlaces her bodice,
The heavy dress to fall to the floor.
An accentuating ivory laced shift hangs loose about her barely covered breasts.
The reverie comes again, as does an unprecedented wave of heat.
She fans herself and opens the glass doors as if willed and entranced by an external ideal.
He haunts her,
The idea of him,
A strange comfort within,
Little regard for its meaning.
Almost forlorn, and with heavy eyes she extinguishes the candles.
Only the light of the moon casts a shadowy illumination about the room.
She lays on her bed, hands backed onto her pillow with a suggestion of submission.
Fingers drop to her chest, pull the laces open and rips the crucifix from her throat.
The voice is stronger now, his will determined to be obeyed.
She lays back and waits, comforted by his impending arrival.
He watches…
Dyer-Bolique slowly continues his stalk,
The cool night air matching the exanimate blood within his veins.
His timeless pursuit of darkest desires nearing their own sensuous and cruel fruition.
Forever driving his will within her own thoughts,
The sweet seduction.
He Waits.
The Casement of glass, willed open at the expectation of his arrival,
A grim manipulation in his timeless art of enticing corruption.
He finds himself perched upon them, as if beast and exquisite night were one.
Gazing upon the creature before his time-worn eyes.
Eyes that have witnessed wonders,
Soaked up the atrocities of their master’s hands,
Imbibing the serenity of beauty within his grasp.
What pleasures,
What pain,
What bliss,
What sorrow,
What satisfaction.
What iniquitous love awaits him?
He moves,
One delicately clawed hand gliding up the window’s frame,
Gently caressing the woodwork as if manipulating the lady’s throat.
A gentle manoeuvre of his own body into the waiting room. No sound given.
A spectre of mist gliding upon the floor,
Guided by isolated pining and ardour driven thirst of an entity born of solitude.
Brooding in wicked fascination as he absorbs her presence,
There is darkness in life, and there is light,
You are the light of all lights.
He draws closer still,
His touch,
A taloned hand reaching out drawing upon his prone prey.
His fascination,
His desire,
His chance of loving redemption.
A gentle brush against a wanting throat, fingertips obsessing over flesh and the flow of contents within.
A light skim of lips trailing,
His seduction complete.
The absolute determination of Dyer-Bolique,
His quest for the purest intimacy of life, love, and living pursuits, all but consume him.
As he will soon consume.
Sorrowful and rejoicing whispers shared upon the touch of his mouth against bare flesh,
Her fingertips caress the creature’s hair,
Waiting, anticipating, offering herself freely to his desires.
An overwhelming sense of tragedy washes over Valkyrie as she lays in Dyer-Bolique’s haunting embrace.
A life half-lived, devoid of its fullness in the subconscious absence of the missing piece of her soul.
Mistake after devastating mistake.
Longing that burned within as if the universe had deprived her of her true heart.
Her legs gracefully dance about his body, clasping around his back and drawing his being into her.
Becoming whole,
Becoming one.
Destined to find each other though the forlorn wait proved agonising,
As does the thought of ever losing him again, that familiar stranger.
She could not suffer death to rip them apart, more unbearable waiting.
She matches his cool kisses with an unprecedented ardour,
A desperate passion born from years of hollow aching.
Her hand grasps his arm in a wanton surrender, submitting to his will.
Offering her body and soul to his passions and pleasures, no matter how deviant.
Her mind bizarrely linked to his, she pulls down her shift exposing her throat to him,
Succumbing to that painfully exquisite longing.
Intimate intrusion,
Dyer-Bolique’s aspiring seduction and dark fulfilment within her hand.
Her touch, excruciating in its elegance.
The reminder of an existence wrought of secluded love,
A memory of past longing, insatiable as her limbs entwine his enraptured being.
A heart, once occupied by the sweetest surrender of unwanted conquests,
Finally entranced in purest devotion to the creature below.
His form suspends its beat and wanting advance.
His body stills….
Hesitating, careful to pursue this ancient obsession with cautious mercy.
To never succumb to his natural iniquitous and corrupt nature.
To cherish the beauty within her touch….and the forgotten feeling of life within his own.
His once empty soul, soon to be filled, reels against dark temptation of sanguineous craving,
Of insatiable and salacious appetite,
Torment of Taste.
Her neck and body, writhing yet prone,
The willing sacrifice before him,
Her smooth and unblemished skin only broken by the course and pulsation;
That which lies beneath its sensuous surface.
A temptation driving his florid eyes mad,
The opportunity of taste, of obtaining her completely.
His lamented lips move over her exposed flesh, savouring the unison to come.
His insentient tongue, gently caressing the exposed throat,
Assimilating a life into his own abominable existence.
His perished fangs descend,
Valkyrie gasps in a climactic release as he buries his weapons deep within her being.
Her eyes grow heavy to his seduction and her body relaxes at his exquisitely painful touch.
Mutual Dreams II
The sands of time pass slowly, moments drenching the hourglass of destiny.
Valkyrie glances furtively to her beckoning window,
Her hands caressing an angelic yet marred throat, awaiting the demon’s lusty return.
Self-sacrificing and subdued,
Her desirous visitor does not appear.
She strips and adorns a crimson shift,
Her senses chant his most beloved hue, and she stands before the ornate mirror,
Gazing at her mortal form.
A haze washes over her, longing for his touch,
Swirls into a glassy, alluring mist.
His gloved hand reaches through the opened, secret door,
Reaches for her in that dreamy trance.
Her eyelids grow heavy as, mesmerised, she accepts his offering,
Surrenders to his grasp.
Seamlessly, she drifts through the looking glass into an ancient corridor,
Beyond the known avenues of the palace.
Disembodied arms venture through the walls,
Illuminate her passage with bended candlelight.
The masked Dyer-Bolique leads her onwards, down into the dungeon of his world…
Into the imprisoned labyrinth of her mind.
Down winding steps until he provides safe carriage on horseback.
Deeper they travel until the scant current of an underground lake swamps its blemished shores.
He lifts her from steed to gondola,
Placing his most prized possession at the helm as he punts through the caverns.
At length they disembark,
He guides her on with the swift and steady sweep of his cloaked arms.
Arched, oak doors greet them,
Deftly he places a laced mask over her besotted eyes,
The doors swing open revealing a hall of splendour drown in music,
Filled with masked lovers, adorned in a harlequin of colour.
Dyer-Bolique links his arm through hers,
Sweeps her into the spectacle, gliding before the mirror clad walls.
Lifting her,
Turning her,
All the while his lips brushing hers and his teeth grazing and teasing her throat.
Her heart pounds at his powerful touch.
The journey achingly swift.
The Dance commences, the Molino Macabre.
His own face, a masked profile of silken porcelain, obscuring the obsidian soul within.
A twist within his gloved palm, sequestering her body into the desired motion,
He who stands on one leg and his prize of mind and earthly flesh, pirouetting about him.
A subtle display of possession, an exhibit of dominance,
Of shattered will and the reconstruction therein.
Her mortal manifestation gliding upon the sleek marble floors,
Hesitant to leave his enraptured touch, finds herself- In solitary step.
The Hall empty, void of the array of colours, of lovers, and the eerie tones of lost music.
Absent of her sanguineness apparition;
Her caller, her phantom.
She glances in trepidation about the candle lit gloom of the lonesome ball room.
Her compulsive-desire for her nameless sovereign building inside her shrouded mind.
Fervour seizes her body in longing anticipation,
A draft of iced melancholy following its rapturous wake…
Succumbing to the anguish of abject emptiness, she falls dejectedly,
Tiles greet her forlorn form with the cold incandescence of unfulfilled promises and light…
Despondent,
Sorrowful,
Abandoned.
The candles fade,
The darkness ensues,
The Volta begins.
The despondency of neglect gentle brushed aside,
As a whisper of touch deftly initiates its own dance upon the nape of her neck.
Growing in delicate expediency,
The mist of touch evolving
Gentle, yet taloned and wraith like claws.
Claws gracefully admiring her exposed flesh,
Flickering over the previous point of blood driven penetration.
Instinctively she turns in expectancy,
Wishing the face of her lord, her love, to occupy her eyes…
Alas, it is not forthcoming.
Before her head collapses once more into detection,
The room blazes again with an amber luminosity!
Shadows that had fought to instil a veil of sadness are driven back.
The empty space begins to hum with the best of savage music,
Rising to an explosive crescendo!
The tune peaks at its zenith,
Valkyrie’s body is thrust upon its own feet,
Her arms guided by unseen yet, spectral hands, Manipulating her into a promenade of sweeping motion.
She swirls across the newly glistening floor,
Caressing hands stroke the curves and contours of the lady’s aching sensual being,
Ever returning to the neck,
The invisible apparition takes form.
The mists and hands of the revenant gradually materialise.
Her body is once again spun,
Guided by desire,
She halts and faces the crimson tainted eyes of her Phantom,
Eyes that greet hers,
absorbing every inch of her being,
Consuming thought and time.
Arms seize the small of her supple back,
Draw her wanton mortality towards his manifesting and undead shape.
Seemingly becoming one entity, as the hall is suddenly filled with carnivalesque gyrations,
Returning lovers.
Masked.
Present.
Absorbed.
Valkyrie and Dyer-Bolique’s bodies entwine,
A haunted and fiendish matrimony,
Together they rise;
Transient,
Unapproachable,
Unattainable.
Casting his mind, and passions, into hers,
‘Rabidly, my mind beats against yours, and your soul succumbs.’
They float, drop, sweetly elated.
His lips cascade across her throat, her neck, inviting his second penetration…
Locked in his possessive arms, Valkyrie sways,
Her mind mesmerised by the influence of her unwittingly sought and accepted master,
His power emits a quiver of fear, an earthquake of desire through her very soul.
Willingly she would give herself to him in an instant,
A sacrifice to his wanton carnality.
She offers her throat, but he does not acquiesce.
Refuses to surrender control,
He has dominion and will yield to nothing,
For that is her destiny.
He pulls her closer, his chest pressing against her heaving breasts,
Her body betraying her at every touch.
A complex and contrasting array of feelings,
Lust that knows no bounds.
Self-sacrifice is her eternal gift to him.
She folds her arm about his neck, running her fingertips through his hair,
Ever pleading through her gaze for him to take her in every way.
Each moment unrequited a painful demonstration of his hold over her,
His ability to deny her his hunger; a veritable hell.
She wishes the others away, wishes that only the two of them existed,
He hears her thoughts.
Her eyes grow heavy, and close as if instructed.
When she finally opens them, they are alone.
Vaguely she remembers being lifted, carried in his arms,
She lays once again in his passionate arms,
Her breathing quickens,
Her body wraps about him,
Moves against him,
Driven by ardent longing,
Infatuated obsession, one that defies time and space. Longing, once again, to be his.
Her body…his,
Her mind …rapt,
Her will…given,
Her desires…conceded,
Her soul…HIS!
His hands slowly dance about her wanton flesh, Absorbed with the longing of ancient hunger.
His feral eyes, cloud in sanguineous tinges and flecks; Absorb the creature below him, devouring her essence in vampiric delight.
The bodies join,
Words of timeless love spoken upon sealed lips,
An understanding of each other’s desires obtained via savage touch and lust.
Her body and his, intertwined in the rapture of impulse,
The ivory and silken sheets, a symbol of purity, a.
Their beings occupy the air about them, meeting each other’s desires in undulating fervour.
The silken bed linens soon depart,
Valkyrie and Dyer-Bolique succumb to the laws of physics,
Reunite with the berth from whence they rose.
The world of mortal man offers no jurisdiction for the united pair,
Bodies one,
Flesh merged,
Lips fed,
Souls amalgamated,
Passion fuelled,
Climax approaches…
Fangs……bared!
Valkyrie tilts her head back and raises her slender throat in anticipation,
Willing him to love her,
To offer her life and death, satisfaction, and pain,
All quelled with one single moment of penetration. She waits, anticipating…
Mutual Dreams III
Subduing his prey,
Her desire temporarily unquenched, the painful ache within unsated,
Their bodies drift, intertwined.
His feet force hers apart,
Her knees press into his hips, tense with another pressing urgency.
Desires combine.
Eager to feel his body dually lancing hers,
Desperate to offer him an explosive satisfaction only akin to her own heightened response,
She surrenders and sacrifices herself willingly to the viper’s phallic touch.
In one swift move he ensures that their bodies are one.
The heat of his volcanic girth swells further,
Fires of sensual friction and tension burn within.
She runs her feet gently up his calves,
Beyond his thighs,
Encourages further his body’s stealthy, knowledgeable gait.
Parallel desires consume the flaming desperation within.
Her waist tenses with each pleasurable electric thrust,
She pleads for more.
Eyes and minds meet,
Softly imploring for tender caresses that deep bite.
Desperate to feed him from her life’s fluid whilst he imparts his.
Cries out for the brush of immortality’s sweet kiss,
As he fills her with streaming desire,
And then to feed from his elegantly toxic veins.
Eager to please,
Eager to give herself utterly unto him for eternity.
He senses her self-sacrifice.
One question escapes her ripened lips,
‘Pain?’
She shows no fear,
She shows no aversion,
She shows no dread of sensation.
Wanton infatuation embraces all that he is,
Slowing his strokes, he looks deeply into the soul of his prey…
Their beings entwined, passions met but dually unspent,
The world of living man, a mere fleeting memory of mortality,
Dwindling in the face and conflagration of passion.
The cessation of life within his insistent form,
Betrayed by its own motions of desire.
Edging and denying her ultimate release.
Pleas and yearning fall upon a being once driven by love…
A love that devoured him in its ancient removal,
Recasting his soul and entity anew.
Her hands and his now entwine as the next step of their culmination arises…
Two separate beings destroyed in the presence,
Devotion and rapture…
Soon to be born anew!
Motion set upon fire, his masterful manoeuvring,
Complimented by her own supple form,
Her pulse of sanguineous life,
Craving lips about her,
Imbibing beauty.
Impending sacrifice upon the approaching pinnacle of unity.
The force of pelvic intoxication recedes,
‘No Pain. Only a life and love of but a dream.’
His words galvanize the pair, rejuvenation of unsanctified unity,
Ravenous in each other’s touch and unholy feel,
Bodies writhing, advancing to needed release.
His single penetration pulsating towards the exanimate explosion so desired,
Their bodies merge,
Darkly glorious salacious want,
Moving furiously in desire.
His pinnacle rises, his sinister seed exploding…
His second penetration imminent,
Fangs drawn,
Her neck pierced,
His ungodly offering gifted.
Her climax absorbed by his experience,
Her life force pulled into his death,
Her blood savoured as ambrosia unto the thirst driven,
Condemned occupants of deserted hells.
Leaning back from his conquest, his taloned hands draw upon her sweat beaded cheeks.
‘Drink!’ He commands…
In a serpent’s flash, Dyer-Bolique slices his flesh,
Deeply parting skin from undead skin upon his chest.
His other hand cups Valkyrie’s chin,
Draws her to him.
Hunger swells on her lips,
She submits to his will,
He forces her mouth to his breast,
She licks the blood,
Eyes gazing up at him with an infuriated ferocity.
Lust hangs heavily in the air,
Sordid, insatiable attraction pulses furiously about them.
Love guided through obsession,
A death like possession,
Oceans of torrential release.
His macabre wielding hand,
Guiding her desirous lust,
Controlling her,
Owning her.
His eternal possession.
Find The Thorn and His Rose Act One here
Find The Thorn and His Rose Act Two here