Cloaked in slumberous youth one sleepy day,
As heat from the pavement rises high,
A vision of love seen through rose-colored glass
She thought, “With this rapture can I fly.”
She traveled to a distant place,
A castle in the sun-baked sky,
So began her fall from Grace;
Unbeknownst was Kushiel’s Dart in her eye.
The Rigid One of God — a dark angel from the Hinterland,
Did lay his mark upon her innocence;
Being woefully ignorant of his brand,
She heeded the angel’s call to dance.
Dance she did with naive glee;
Oblivious to rising dejection,
“For I can fix even he,
And make our life a sweet confection.”
One bleak day did she awaken,
To a castle cold, dead, bone-dry;
Upon her head was his crown,
An illness subtle as a susurrus sigh.
As she tore his diadem from her brow
To repudiate the half-dazed dream,
“How could I have been so blind!”,
Echoed in her silent scream.
Kushiel answered in sotto voce,
A soft rumbling in her ear;
“You must give up your lovely lash,
if you wish to be free from here.”
Discernment dawned in her eyes,
Seduced she’d been by self-laid scourge
She had played at pathetic penitence
While chanting her childish dirge.
Guiding her through task and turmoil,
Arm cocked with a fiery whip;
Stood the angel Kushiel,
Ready to strike with a flaming tip.
Stone by stone her chore began,
With torn nails and bloodied hands;
Labored breath, don’t spare the rod…
A torment worthy of the Gods.