The blue woman

The walls and the roof of her house cling tightly to each other. Groaning from the gaps and squeaking from the corners. The woman roams the rooms of the house, naked and shiny. Leaves stick to her moist skin and swirl down to her feet as her skin slowly dries. A heritage of her night in the forest, where she danced with the Devil himself. Shamelessly. A memory full of satisfaction. And the fearless flirting with the wolves of the night, of whom she had only seen the yellow eyes sparkle. Come!

She can still feel the fresh moss under her bare feet, although she knows the squeaking with every step she takes, is coming from the wooden floors. There is still grass between her toes. She shakes a hundred and two forget-me-nots out of her blue hair and opens the attic window to see the declining moon. Pale yellow light shines as a square shape on her body. With violet eyes she looks at this full night-ball. Lady-friend. See you tomorrow! See you tomorrow night! Down, down the attic stairs again. House. Home. And nevertheless such a strange place. She sees the rooms, one by one, for the first time. Over and over again. The Chamber of Pain, almost so familiar, but still new, and not so frightening anymore. The Chamber of Pleasure, where everything is orange. Where the windows can be opened widely, and where glistening and jingling decorations move in the soft breeze. Garlands! She is going to put garlands of joy in this room. The Chamber of Doubt. Within which the floor is not levelled and the walls are not exactly straight. And then the Kitchen, the Kitchen… Her deepest domain, where there is always a cauldron on the fire, for those who might possibly come by to visit…. If he may… The woman stirs in the cauldron nine times so the concoction maintains its power. Magic on the fire. The Chamber of Books, where she never reads because the words and sentences already exist, but she always comes to rest there. Sojourn for a little while… and when she is very, very quiet, just quiet enough, she hears the books whisper and sigh about all the thoughts and stories they shelter and sacrifice to those who are able to listen very carefully. She roams through the Long Corridor. It is bewitched. She always hears footsteps there, like someone is climbing the stairs. Who? Pounding heartbeat. Throbbing temples. But there is nobody. Candles are always burning when she comes home. The house lights the candles on its own. For her. Smile. Reflections. A trace of fallen leaves is left on the floor while she wandered through the rooms. During the last drinking of the night. Her skin is copper colored again. Eyes deep purple. Mouth night-red. The moon sets. She goes to the Chamber of Sleep, because it’s almost getting light. Time for the dream of the day, soft dozing, snoozing. Softly rolling with the movement of sleepy illusions. Sleep well. Sleep well. See you tomorrow night….

Lilith.

The blue woman

-Lilith-

Emmen, Netherlands

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