Blood was everywhere.

She stood there, naked save for those fluids splashed against her ivory skin, lit by the moonlight like a goddess stepping onto our earthly realm. Her long mane was dark in the night but I could tell it would be the color of flame in candlelight. She eyed me with the sensual cast of a predator, like a spoilt cat eyes a mouse with casual interest before it half-heartedly rips the life of it away. The ruined corpse at her feet showed she had already done as such.

I stood there paralyzed with terror but also somehow thrilled with the delicious sight of her. Never had I been so scared of anyone, every fibre of my being screaming to run away. But never had I desired anyone so either.

I am no hero, indeed I play the brave man to impress others but when things get out of control I am swift to break and run and hate myself for my weakness. When I heard that shriek coming from the dark alleyway, walking home after my drinking session at the local, I know not why I found myself investigating. But sure enough my traitorous legs took me down that dark and gloomy place and this was my reward.

She casually stepped towards me, her every body movement, be it the slight swing of her hips, the bounce of her breasts, or the swish of her long hair, sent a thrill of desire through me. Everything about her was graceful, too perfect for such an ugly and unsophisticated world. But it was her face, oh that face, that held my gaze. She looked young but those emerald eyes revealed that she was ancient beyond understanding, and the slight smile on her ruby lips promised all manner of horrors as well as delights.

She reached out with gore-stained hands and wrapped her arms about me. The touch of her body to mine sent my mind reeling with pleasure as well as disgust, the scent of rose and sandalwood intoxicated me. Her lips met mine and our tongues danced, or rather hers, I was still rendered immobile from her presence. All my senses were in override and my heart beat so painfully I thought I was going into cardiac arrest. It was likely only a few seconds but it felt like we were together for an eternity before she finally stepped back and smiled viciously.

She seated herself on one of those large, wheeled bins as though it were a throne and, with a throaty laugh, opened her legs to me. Her obvious shamelessness made me harder at that moment than any blushing virgin could ever hope to do. Entranced, I found myself walking toward the gore-slick nymph, fumbling madly at my trousers.

I paused however, for the scenery around her began to shift. The bin, the pavement, the plain brick wall, even the corpse all shifted as though the world were a computer monitor about to glitch. A new scene was briefly flickering into my vision, as though another world were trying to overlay itself over the current one. Were horns appearing on her head, or was it a crown? What I saw of this other world I cannot fully remember, the mind has a knack for protecting itself from such memories, but it was so nightmarish that the distraction interrupted the woman’s hold on me and I became fully aware of the madness I was about to participate in.

Like any good coward, I ran screaming.

01/06/15

That is how this insanity all came about, sweet reader.

Before that night I was a failed poet who wrote trashy novels that other people took the credit for. Ever wondered how some authors somehow manage to release so many crappy novels in such a short amount of time? Bingo. When an author has a big enough fan base it matters not how bad the story is, slap their name on it, the fans declare it a masterpiece and the publishers bury themselves in coin.

That changed for me after that night however. The sight of that woman still left me yearning for her, despite the fear that came with it. Indeed, no other woman satiated me the way the mere sight of her did. It also ignited the creative flame in me again and before I knew it I was considered up there with the greats in modern day poetry. Turns out all you need is a tortured soul to be a successful writer, who knew?

I had the tasteless pen name of Drake Rouge, my real name was Doug Finly. Apparently my work is considered ahead of its time, unafraid to use taboo imagery to express its image. Truth be told it was the bold sexuality of that woman, it opened a door of depravity in my imagination that I had long ago sealed away, with the chains of morality that society hands us. My dreams slowly turned dark after that night, and I fantasized things that would have decent people vomit at the sight of it. De Sade of the modern era I think one critic said of my latest anthology.

For the next three years I continued on with my life. Naturally I saw reports of a torn up corpse on the news, but it seems the killer was never found, nor did the authorities come knocking at my door. I know I should have gone to them, tell them what I saw, like as not the woman had drugged me in some way. Yet I felt myself refrain from this, somehow I knew there was more to it than that, and instinct told me seeking the police would only cause more problems.

I enjoyed my new found success, but I never felt content. Frequently I day-dreamed of encountering that woman again and all the things we would say to each other, usually ending with a passionate entangling of our two bodies. I had long suffered from that Madonna-whore complex, when I fell in love with a woman I felt no lust for her, when I lusted for a woman I felt little love. But she was love and lust combined into perfection.

Then, on this dark night it happened again. A scream from another dark alley as I stumbled drunkenly home. I had been invited to a discussion on modern poetry and that usually had me drinking myself to a stupor, a preferable alternative to cutting my ears off.

Terror filled me, yet I ran toward the sound. I feared for my life, yes, but I just had to see her again. Even if it meant being ripped open like the other victim.

There was nothing but the corpse when I arrived, another young man looking as though he lost a fight with a tiger, or rather that he tried mating with one seeing as his trousers were around his ankles. I heard a husky laugh and I found myself calling after her, heedless of who else may hear. I caught the vague scent of sandalwood and knew it was her. I called and called until my lungs were raw, but to no avail. I stopped only when I saw the stained wall beside the body. The shout died at my throat at the sight of it.

Using blood, a heart with an arrow shot through it had been painted on the wall, like teenagers carving it on a tree. Just like said teenagers, there were initials within that heart. Mine, and another character that I could not make. It was certainly in no language I was familiar with. Realising the implications if I was caught with this grisly artwork, I fled again.

11/06/15

Prostitution laws are a confused thing, here in merry old England. Whilst it is not exactly illegal to be a prostitute, god help you if you are caught using one. Those laws are so confused and gargled they will find some way of punishing you. It’s almost as if the politicians were rather into hookers but figured they best throw in some laws against it to appear somewhat decent, not that politics and decency ever mix well.

At that time I lived in the shabbier area of a dock city, so there was no shortage of them. Once that sun can stand the sight of us no longer, out they come, scantily clad and the property of anyone, for a while, to whomever has the currency. I never used them myself, not that I was not tempted, but tales of various diseases kept that coward in me taking control and steering me well away. I had a drinking friend who was not so fretful however, and never caught anything either.

Why am I discussing street prostitutes? Well, after hiding under my bed sheets for a few days, and realizing that neither the mysterious murderer or the police were coming to take me away, I somehow built up some form of bravery and began asking around. I still desperately yearned for her, you see, and knowing that she was still in my vicinity, in this very city, filled me with hope of seeing her in favorable conditions.

Luck was not on my side, few people could, or were willing, to help. Being limited to what I could reveal was a disadvantage also. I was attempting to drown my sorrows at one of the inns, knowing full well it only made me more miserable, when my hooker using friend came in. As we began drinking together and making merry I asked him if he would be visiting those ladies of the night, to which the merriment all but fled him. “No way, not done so for a while now.” He grumbled, “Dunno what happened but they changed, they’ve been acting weird.” Unlike me, he had not the benefit of a fine education and could not really explain why they were so weird. Since I was hunting who had to be the queen of weirdness I realized I had been given a lead.

So I went to that famously impoverished area of the city, began questioning those barely dressed women, and learned that my friend was indeed correct. Hookers were often a nuisance here, boldly taking your arm whilst reaching for your wallet, but now they worked with a strange sense of urgency. Each one I approached had a feverish look about them, they were quick to offer me all sorts of experiences without talk of the price. In fact they seemed rather uninterested in the money and offered themselves at ludicrous rates. If I did not know better, I would say they had gained a hint of that brazen shamelessness that I had seen in the woman I sought.

As I continued my search I began to realize that these prostitutes were not so much weird now as plain mad. Whilst the night wore on they grew more frantic in their search for clients, some stripping themselves of clothing completely, others spreading their legs to those passing. I verily had to slap one who tried to drag me into a dark corner, offering all manner of sexual delights. My jaw verily dropped when I saw one lead a customer away who gave what must have been little more than a penny. When I tried asking questions few would answer, no matter how much I offered them. Unless I intend to fuck them they were not interested. What is going on here?

“Are you DF?” a voice inquired seductively. I felt a hand gently brush my shoulder. I jumped and spun round, ready to beat away another of these insane whores. Despite myself, my breath caught upon seeing her. Like the others she had that feverish look on her, and she was completely naked in public. Whilst she had red hair, it was not flame like the mysterious woman, her eyes were more blue than green, and her pale skin was freckled. A desirable woman, but not the one I desired. “Are you DF? I must find DF!”

I blinked, “Depends what DF stands for.”

Even as I said it I knew it was lame, I had veritably screamed that my initials are DF in saying that. Seems she had the brains to see that too. She jumped up and down excitedly, causing her breasts to move in a most mesmerizing manner. She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward a narrow street, “She told me I would find you. She told me you would fuck me better than she did.”

The street she led me down was full of whores with their clients, doing all manner of things. Some were performing the good old-fashioned methods, some went for doggy-style, some settled for the use of their tongues, others went for anal. But all of them did it with the frenzy of animals; the air was filled with the raucous of pleasure. Knowing full well the answer, I would not have let her drag me along otherwise, I asked, “Who told you?”

She ignored me. She pulled me through a door into a small room with only a mattress at its center. Panting with desire, she all but threw herself onto the mattress. “Please. Fuck me in her name. None have satiated me like she did. But you, she said you will.” She groaned in frustration and desire, “It feels so good, so awful. Please use me.” Would you believe, with all the strange behavior, I found myself turned on? As she lay back and revealed herself to me I felt my body flush with lust and found myself willing to use her as requested. I knelt and grabbed her thighs, taking in the wonderful sight and made ready to put my tongue to something more pleasant than discussing literature.

I paused when I felt something under my hand.

I looked and, to my shock and revulsion, I saw carved into her flesh the same drawing that was painted on the wall. I looked to the inside of the other thigh and my heart skipped at the words cut there:

WHEN IN ROME XXX

“Fuck me like she did.” She said again.

I felt my stomach lurch. I realized then that doing her in the traditional fashion would not be enough to satiate her. I began to realize that the woman had done far darker things that made this hooker mad with lust, and nothing less would satisfy her now.

I heard her screams of fury as I ran out the room. I cared not. I ignored the various positions being performed around me and fled back to my little flat. I am done, enough is enough. My chase for the bloodthirsty nymphomaniac is over.

14/06/15

Yet here I am, on a plane bound for Rome. Seriously, what is wrong with me? Clearly this can come to no good end. Well, reader, at least you can rest easy knowing the world will be rid of at least one more moron. I felt like a fish being pulled on the hook. I may struggle but sure enough I was slowly being pulled to shore, my only hope being that the line snaps.

That’s why I’m writing these entries, in case you’re wondering. If my insides end up being strewn across some mad woman’s tits, hopefully someone will find this and find the answers I failed to uncover. Or they will wonder what drugs I was on and toss it aside, still, one must try.

15/06/15

“Feck, feckity, feck, feck!” Ever since watching Father Ted as a young boy I started using that swear word. Mainly because I could use it and not be berated for it. I did the same with the word ‘zounds’ ever since I studied hamlet, a good play but it forced me learn far too much of Freud’s Oedipus theories.

Anyhoo, I was cursing because I could only afford to stay another couple of nights and had little luck in locating the woman. Naturally I had researched on the location of prostitutes in the area and began asking them, only to have the polizia threaten to imprison me for harassing them.

I also learned that some new act introduced a few years ago had reduced the tolerance of those workers in the cities, the majority now being found in rural areas. So I rented a car and drove off, only to find they knew little English and I bugger-all Italian. So I tried visiting the tourist attractions, might as well make the most of my holiday, but it was also in the hope that I would find her visiting the sights also. Not that I could picture her wearing normal clothing and wandering about nonchalantly. I eyed the women in St Peter’s Square of the Vatican city, receiving glares from those who caught me and leaving me blushing. I cooled off in the shade of the Arch of Constantine. I wandered the interiors of the coliseum. Rather despondent, it was not until I trudged to the Temple of Venus and Roma on Velian Hill that I finally got a lead.

All splendor and beauty of the place was now lost, with only ruins to hint at the greatness it once had. Dedicated to Venus and Roma, I heard that Hadrian mainly wanted it dedicated for Venus, that Roma was in fact just Amor, Latin for love, backwards. Very clever, but I found it hard to believe. I wandered the cella where the statue of Roma had been, but it was when I entered the cella of Venus that I struck gold. A group of young English speakers, American by their accents, were discussing their frivolities of the night before. Naturally I was disinterested at first, until they mentioned a secret brothel full of creepy prostitutes. Apparently their eagerness had been too much for them and they made their escape. As a poet, I could give the ancient fili a run for their money, and before they knew it I was with them at a nearby restaurant, conversing and laughing at their jokes. With subtle words that would make the best car salesman proud I discerned the location of this brothel. I soon excused myself and made for the place at once.

Brothels are illegal in Italy, but operating from apartments is not. Apparently this place was owned by a landlord, and the tenants but whores who work at home. A façade that kept them just out of the authorities’ reach, though likely the odd bribe helped also. Feeling a growing excitement I reached the surprisingly normal looking building. Apparently the main door was open to my American friends and they had no trouble entering. I was disappointed when I saw the place closed up. Not just the door, but every window also. It was full dark when I got there so it was not to keep the heat of midday away. Unsure of myself, I knocked at the door. I did this several times, not getting an answer but refusing to leave until someone came.

At last, I heard the sound of several locks clicking before the door opened a jar. A rotund, bald man shouted at me in Italian and made to slam the door. I thrust my foot in, wincing at the pain as it was crushed, “I am looking for a woman.”

The man cursed several times, “No women today, come back tomorrow.” He crushed my foot further, threatening to break bone. I made a note not to wear sandals in future.

Perhaps it was the pain in my foot, the man shouting me, the heat or the frustration of the chase, but I found myself hissing at the man, “I’m after a particular woman. Red hair, green eyes, skin paler than bone? Likes to walk around naked and kill people after fucking them? The way things are going for me killing is starting to be just as appealing as fucking.”

The man’s eyes widened, he swallowed dryly and whispered, “Go, sir, it is dangerous here.”

I shook my head, “Where is she?”

He grit his teeth, then he nudged my foot away and slammed the door closed. I batted at the door in rage, thinking he had refused me entry. Turns out he was removing the chains. He opened the door wide and let me in, “On your head, sir. The girls have been acting strange since she came.” He pointed to the stairs, “Top floor.”

I made my way up the stairs, sweating and cursing the place for not having an elevator. Yet as I neared the top floor an excitement began to build within me. The scent of incense, rose, sandalwood, and possibly a hint of jasmine. I had an ex who was into new age mumbo jumbo in case you’re wondering why I am an expert on scents. Fear and desire warred with each other as I reached the door at the top floor and entered.

I had expected a corridor full of apartments. Instead it was an open area, probably rented out for parties and meetings. Tonight however it was as though I had entered a temple. My eyes stung from the thick smoke of the incense burning, but I could make out from the doorway I stood at to the door at the other end a line of women kneeling to either side of me. They were all naked and some chanted unintelligible words. Not a single one looked up at me, instead they all seemed to be focused on the other door. Various candles lit the gloom, enshrouding much of the area in shadow.

All instincts telling me to leave, I made my way along the trail of whores to the other side. The air felt strange, like I was wading through mud. I was expecting the world to fall away, like a curtain ready to reveal the truth that lay behind it all. I touched the handle of the door, my hands shook, I knew she was in there. She was waiting for me. If I had any sense I would have turned and left. Instead I entered.

There she was. On a luxurious bed circled with candles she laid there idly. She smiled at me knowingly as I came in, naked as the night I first saw her, except less gore, though I was expecting that to soon be remedied with my own. She was as magnificent as I recalled, if not more so. I found myself once again paralyzed with fear and desire. All I could manage as I stared at her like a drooling pervert was “Hi.”

She laughed that husky laugh, the sound making me want her all the more. “Welcome, Drake, or Doug? Which do you prefer?” The first time I heard her talk, and oh how perfect her voice is! It was that deep, seductive timbre fiery woman were wont to have, with a musical accent I could not place.

“Who are you?”

It came out as a forced whisper, yet she heard me all the same, “I have been called various names. When last I walked this plane I was often referred to as Kilili. Let us go with that, if names are important to you.” With that brazenness I so admired she opened herself to me, moving with unnatural grace, and held out a hand, “Shall we?”

Slowly, my voice was returning to me, yet I still struggled to keep my tone confident, “You have a habit of wearing a man’s entrails after lying with them. You’ll forgive me if I decline.”

She smiled that wondrous smile and looked at me coyly, “Inside me, inside you, inside everyone there is a desire to be broken. Those men smiled with delight as I tore them apart. I showed them their core desire, of pleasure so intense it ripped the life from them. As a whore, it is my duty to utterly satisfy my clients. But you,” she got to her knees and held her arms out to me reverence, “You are different. They were but pebbles to cast into the lake, you the gold nugget among them, too valuable to cast away, wonderful though it would be. Do you know why I am here?”

I shook my head, wondering if she had said the same words to the others before she slaughtered them. She answered, “You brought me here. Your soul screams of its loneliness so profoundly it echoes across the planes. I heard it, and marveled at how it matched the cry of my own spirit. Just as you had to find me, I just had to find you, traversing the spheres to do so. We belong, you and I, shed the delusions this mundane realm has placed on you, and you shall see.” She lay back and open her legs to me, “Come, my love.”

I stepped forward, then paused, still uncertain.

“Choose now, love.” She said, “You are at the crossroads. Be a coward and never be content, or risk all and be the man you yearn to become. There is no turning back after tonight.”

That won me. All my life I had been shy, sweet reader, because you know what? People terrify me. Rejection terrifies me. As a consequence I hid in my literature, regretting what I could have been, what other choices I could have made. Every poem I wrote was a cry for someone to fulfil me, every word a scream of anguish at the loneliness of it all. So I went to her.

We did not make romantic love in the candlelight dear reader. Oh no. We fucked like animals, countless times. This was not about that empty crap you see in romance movies and books. This was raw, this was passionate, carnal. We did things to one another most people would not dare to even dream of. The kind of things people are careful to remove from their internet search history. Yes, you know what I mean you sickos, don’t you feign ignorance.

Yet because we did such things it made us all the more closer to one another, more intimate because we knew the base desires that lay within both of us, and reveled in it. The fact that she could gut me any moment also lent a sense of urgency to my movements. Reality seemed to shift, revealing worlds beyond my own, but I was so focused on her I did not glimpse the horrors I witnessed before. Instead I looked into her eyes and saw the madness there, only to realize it was but a mirror of my own soul.

As I lay there exhausted, candles guttering, Kilili in my arms, I wondered if my cock would fall off. I had gone on longer than was natural and was hurting all over, particularly my back which she had shredded with her nails. I guess she could not completely withhold her instincts. Kilili, on the other hand, seemed happy to continue if I let her. I suppose she had more experience than me. Did she find me lacking? “What am I to you?” I found myself saying breathlessly.

“Everything and nothing.” She mounted me, somehow my cock had gone hard again and quick as a snake she had it in her, “What am I to you? I am your whore, your teacher, your mother, your queen, your goddess.” She took my face in both hands and gave me a serious and searching expression as she slid up and down me, “Most of all I am your true love.”

There you have it folks, that final bit with that expression revealed much. It seems even a perfect creature such as she feared and suffered rejection. Had the others sought escape once they had slaked themselves on her? Had their proclamations of love in fact been lust, quickly spent after a quick frolic? I found that hard to believe, I was being pushed beyond my endurance and I still wanted her. Fortunately for me she seemed to see that and smiled.

She finished me up and with fingers gently brushing my face she whispered in my ear, “Sleep now love, we have a long future together. Tonight was but a taste of the delights to come.” All my energy spent, and feeling relaxed by her sweet voice, I fell into a dreamless slumber.

18/06/15

As I write this I am now on a cheap flight to Germany. Having put the pieces together I know this adventure will end there.

I awoke the next morning expecting the woman of my dreams to be beside me. But to my crushing despair she had gone. Every muscle aching like hell I rose and looked about, knocking over the melted candles, daylight streaming through thin curtains. I went out but the hall was empty now. The incense faded. I went to the apartments and tried asking the whores but they had gone like the street walkers back home, Kilili’s presence seemed to awaken the nymphomaniac in prostitutes and set them working with a new fervor. I recalled how Kilili told me of the desire to be broken within everyone and wondered if she revealed that yearning within them, causing them to go mad with lust as a result. Either way they were not very forthcoming, if I was not going to use them they were not interested. After the previous night I was in no condition to do so.

I left the building, passing a scared looking landlord as I did so, and returned to the hotel. I took a shower, gritting my teeth as the cuts on my back flared with pain. But the pain of her disappearance hurt more. Why had she left? Did I fail to satisfy her? Few men could have endured what we did last night, I did not think myself so capable until she came into my life.

I looked at myself in the mirror, sure I am no super model, but I did not think I was ugly wither. In fact, vain as it sounds, I thought myself quite the catch. That night went over and over in my mind. What had I done wrong, what could I have done? Not really caring, I turned to analyse the extent of the damage on my back. My jaw slackened at what I saw.

The crazy bitch had clawed an entire stanza into my back! Considering the debauched things we did to one another, I could not believe she retained enough focus to do such a thing. But sure enough there it was:

And so they wait, while empires sprung

Of hatred thunder past above,

Deep in the earth, forever young

Tännhauser and the Queen of Love

A quick google search on my trusty laptop showed it to be a ballad by John Davidson, but it was the content that was the key, not the writer. Having studied literature, I was well aware of the legend of Tännhauser. The knight who dwelled in the Venusberg, the mountain where Venus held her court hidden from most mortals. I realized that what I had was an invitation from Kilili to come dwell with her in her world. I recalled the scenes I had witnessed and wondered if I could stand to do such a thing.

Of course I could, after last night I was irrevocably bound to her. I would surrender my writing hand if it meant staying with her. Unfortunately to do so I had to find a mythological place that no one believes exists, I suppose just carving an address into me was too simple for her. Thankfully I live in the age where the internet rules the world and found the Hörselberge mountain in Germany to be my best bet. I researched the place and it had a wealth of history and legends, the most predominant being that it was a place of witches and goddesses.

Out of curiosity I also looked into the name Kilili. To my amazement I actually came across articles of a prostitute goddess from ancient Sumeria, one of the earliest known civilizations. Is she really that ancient? Although it is debated, evidence suggested that prostitute and priestess was one and the same back then. This struck chillingly close to the mark for those maddened whores I encountered.

So here I am on a plane. If I knew I would not be heading home I would not have been quite so lascivious in Rome. As it was I managed to get a cheap last minute flight and looked up the inexpensive hostels to be found in the area. So arrivederci Rome, hallo Eisenach. I knew nothing of the town but I did not intend to spend much time there.

21/06/15

My hands tremble as I write this, I am not sure I am in the right frame of mind to write this at all. It is taking all my will to hold my sanity together. You shall have to forgive me if this account is not as coherent as the previous entries.

How to begin this entry? Suffice to say I found her. Where I had splurged on a pleasant in Rome I dared only arrange for a place in the hostel at Eisenach. I hated those places, I was used to living alone so sharing bunks with a group of foreign strangers was tough for me. But at the risk that I had travelled all the way to the wrong place I decided I had better be more frugal. I did decide to invest in a backpack and a few essentials however, articles seemed to state that the Groβer Hörselberge (apparently there is a big and small one), can be an arduous climb.

I took a taxi to the place and enjoyed a meal and cool drink at the inn situated at its base. This along with the fair weather put me in better spirits than I had been and I soon made my way up the indicated path.

Tracking my murderous femme fatale aside it was a truly beautiful place. This time of year the wooded area of the berg was teeming with flora and fauna. As you ascend the woods give way to afford you a magnificent view of the surrounding area. I would have enjoyed myself had I not been looking for a centuries old nympho-psycho who used my back like parchment, which stung as I sweated. I smiled politely as I passed other hikers, wondering if any of them had been led here like me.

It reminded me of my childhood when I would run about in the forests after reading about the Tuatha De Danaan, seeking a portal to the otherworld where they dwell. How many of those tourists came to the place saying to themselves that it is for the scenery, when in reality it is their inner child hoping that maybe, just maybe, they would be privy to something special, that they of all people would be gifted with a fantastical sight. I know I used to, never dreaming that I would encounter my fairy woman in a dark alleyway rather than a forest, with a corpse at her feet rather than flowers. Not exactly a Disney romance, yet I confess I felt more enticed because the danger was so real.

I went to the main tourist attraction, the Venus cave and the Tännhauser cave, both enterprisingly named and inconveniently near the summit. I had heard the Venus cave was where the court of Venus was held from prying mortal eyes. I got there, looked inside and do you know what I encountered? Nothing, just as I did in the Tännhauser cave. I checked every inch of that place and encountered little more than bare rock. I searched outside for any other landmark that may be suspect but located nothing. Kilili was nowhere to be seen.

As the sun began to set so I started to despair. I knew I should head back, traversing the berg in the dark was not advised and I did not relish the thought of breaking a limb up there. Yet I could not bring myself to return to the hostel. Something inside convinced me that this had to be the place. I was aware of another place at a castle in Bavaria, but it was manufactured to bring in people, surely she did not mean there?

As exhaustion and depressions set in and the sun was lost to the distant hills, I decided to head back. That was when I saw it, another cave deep in the wooded area. I was certain it was not there before, yet it was shrouded by moss and lichen, so it could easily have been missed. With no one else around, I entered the dark crevice, switching on the torch I had purchased.

What a sight it was! Glistening stalactites and mites surrounded a pool just a few paces in. How had no one found this or advertised this? I knew that if I read the clue correctly then Kilili would be somewhere in here. But then why could I not see her? I advanced on the crystal clear pool and realised at once that the gateway was before me. I could almost hear her siren call, beckoning towards it. I looked down and saw my own reflection, made gloomy by the poor lighting. Should I dive in? That did not feel right somehow. So I just stared at my dreary reflection, waiting for some clue.

My reflection shifted, whirled, then disappeared into a dark void. For a moment I saw only blackness until that parted like a curtain to reveal a completely new scene.

There was a hall, magnificently furnished with various mosaics and tapestry. To one side musicians played whilst the many attendees feasted around a great table. In my mind’s eye I had pictured her realm to be something like collier’s painting. Gallant knights and barely clothed women. None of the men and women were clothed here, and not all of them were human. Some closer to animals than people. At the far end of the table sat a woman so beautiful I thought my heart would burst, I could not stare at her for long. It was like looking at the sun, glorious but likely to burn out your retinas. Seated to her left was Kilili, she seemed to see me and raised a goblet in greeting.

I would have stepped through then and there, save the atmosphere of the hall shifted. The minstrels started to play faster, the attendants grew restless and seemingly cruder in their banter, and before I could understand what was occurring they were at one another.

Reader, how do I begin to describe the horrors I saw at that moment. Eros and Thanatos melded as one, more extreme than the most open-minded bacchante. Every orifice was used, every kind of body fluid available was spilt. The things me and Kilili did together was dross compared to the vile things enacted there. Nothing was restricted, nothing taboo. The minstrels increased their tempo to a maddening cacophony before joining in. None seemed unhappy to be there, even if it meant being used and cast aside like broken toys. I looked for where Kilili was amidst the massacre/orgy.

She was on all fours on the table, gasping in pleasure and pain as a goat-man, a satyr perhaps, rammed his unnaturally sized cock in her. I am not saying this out of jealousy reader, that thing was enormous, too big. She kept her eyes on me the entire time. Once the satyr bleated in orgasm Kilili calmly reached behind her and tore out its throat. It fell back, gurgling and still ejaculating.

With serpentine grace, seemingly nonplussed by what she had taken into her vulva, she rose and walked over the table towards me, thighs streaming blood and semen. Stepping over the writhing bodies, she held out her arms to me invitingly. Even then I wanted her more than ever, the sight of her still intoxicating to me, her promise of forbidden delights somehow making her all the more desirable to me. I understood then that the feast was being held in my honor, a welcome party for the new mortal given the opportunity to enter Kilili’s realm.

It was too much for me, the shock of it all overwhelmed my desire for her and I ran again. I was too terrified to think about the danger of running through the woodland in the dark. I tripped and stumbled multiple times but as up and running again a moment later. The most disturbing thing was that I did not hear Kilili’s shriek of outrage as I fled, just her mocking laughter.

24/06/15

Depending how things go, this should be my last entry.

Yes, I am going back, I am going to be with her.

I made it back to the hostel. I spent the entire night running back and hid in my allocated bunk for the next two days. My sleep was plagued with nightmares of the things I saw, Kilili smiling at me all the while. I expected to wake and find her there above me, expression hateful, nails poised to rip into me. But she did not come, and I knew why.

She had laughed at my cowardice because she knows I would inevitably return. As I began to take in what I saw and clicked it with the things she had said to me that night we spent together, I began to realize the feast was as much a lesson for me as it was a celebration. What at first had seemed mindless slaughter I soon realized was something else, I’ll let you figure it out reader, Kilili’s the teacher here not I. My fear has dimmed but my yearning for Kilili has only increased, I am compelled to go to her. I can resist no more, I will seek that pool tonight and step in without hesitation, pledging fealty to the magnificent goddess she serves.

I suppose I should leave some meaningful, parting words. Something poetic to carve on whatever monument is set up to represent my corpse.

How about a quote that would not usually apply to romances such as mine? Something like “Love conquers all…”

THE END