The goddess has many faces. At one time she is a warrior with painted face and bloodstained hands and the next a total vamp playing the temptress with flashing eyes and painted lips. How do I know? I was briefly the hand maiden to the goddess. Either that or the sacrificial lamb, there is little difference.
The goddess has many faces. She can take your heart gently and stroke it into willing compliance and the next bring forth screams of a pain not welcome. I have loved and screamed, at times both in the same instant. The goddess may just watch or even allow the softness of a sympathetic tear to drip onto a heaving breast.
The goddess has many faces. The mystery keeps the handmaidens dancing uncertain of the face turning next to them. I once danced the handmaidens dance, stopping uncertain then moving always expectant, but fearing her glance. Filling time with the minutiae of the everyday unknowing and uncaring but always impatiently waiting.
A face of the goddess is cruel and gentle, naked and concealed, alluring and repellent. It doesn’t make a difference, the dance continues. I was once the handmaiden of the goddess. I tasted her cruelty and wept as she wiped my tears away. I shed my blood at her feet and heard her shrieks of laughter. The goddess has many faces.
The goddess cast her charm and I fell willingly, following those I had previously derided. I had laughed and now felt nothing as others laughed. I wear the stripes of the goddess’s handmaiden with shameful pride and would eat alive those who sought to remove them. I have fallen to the depths and risen to the heights, laughing and screaming on the ride. I have starved and feasted both at the goddess’s table and in her bed.
I have loved the goddess and I have quaked in fear of her wrath. She has no forgiveness of those she favours and scourges those she sought. She holds out the promise of pain and then inflicts a gentle stroke making my skin cry out for that which was promised. She inflicts the true agony of the deprived upon my soul and laughs gently at me.
She has come with painted face and dancing eyes, luring me into danger, uncaring following blind, mad with lust and desire. I stroked her flanks briefly before she laughed and slipped dancing away from me. Fists clenched in frustration I watched her dance, wanting to plunge my hands deep into her, to feel her blood on my wrists and her desire burn into my flesh.
The goddess dances and her handmaidens writhe. She blows hot inflaming the passion and then extinguishes them with a blast of icy indifference. Running hot burning my flesh with her touch and left frozen when she turns away indifferent from urgent need. I have overcome all earthly addictions, they pale beside my need to dance the handmaidens dance. My feet still move while my mind screams in the bondage of her charms.
Now that I am no longer the handmaiden of the goddess I weep, my flesh is whole but my soul is lifeless. Other handmaidens now dance the dance. I now longer entice her with my steps, new maiden’s burn for her touch unaware of the path they walk. The burning ache that never ebbs, a craving far worse than the lure any needle’s touch. I cannot slake my thirst; it burns within tormenting me with no pleasure. The goddess has many faces.