The banquet was beautiful. The people in attendance roaring with hurricane forces. Like a hurricane it was lovely to watch and yet altogether terrible to experience. The wine at least, was good. I am not one for food in public places. It is unfortunate to have this kind of neurosis, as it genuinely smelled delicious.
Ibrahim proved himself useful when he wasn't enjoying the bread. He seemed to know just when to draw attention so that I could leave a trail for my target to follow. I am commanded by the powers that be to make this man, the target, come to me. This was not the way I would have it, but it is not for me to choose. I am beginning to despise this new world order. Edict or not, it is not right to expect me the black whore. Figuratively, of course. I am above this type of behavior, but, a contract is binding. I have agreed to fulfill it, and am being compensated well. There is something to be said for knowing your place in this world. Then again, there is something to be said for rooftops, too. I'd prefer the latter.
I was told a story once, of a great woman who knew her place. It always struck a chord with me. She had been a woman of plainness and not particularly beautiful for the times but, she had command of a powerful man. Moreover, a man she wanted and desired, held captive by her guile. It was not without rumor as to how. Some had said she was a witch who enthralled him with a poison. Others had said she begged the Moons, and her wish was granted. One proclamation was more simplistic in nature. It had been said she would give him just enough to instill the want of her, and then she would walk, sometimes run away. Subsequently, this powerful man would chase her, want her, have to have her. She became his obsession. He gave up companion, Home Stone, religious affiliation, and almost his monarchy. Just to have her? Just to hold her? No, just to posses her. When the hunt for her had come to an end, bored of her whims, he betrayed her. I do not believe she was a heretic as the story's end would have us conclude. It is my feeling she was done in by love. Lust is a chase, love is a conqueror. Love after all, had chopped off her head in a market square. Love had watched it roll into the awaiting basket. Love had left her to the flies and spectators.
I had been seen. Stalking me across the room. It is like being a feast at the pulpit of the poor. Or, more like kaissa, if played right, of course. A moved piece, a first pawn, sacrificed for the long war and not the quick battle. A taste of things to come. It isn't as if we have never been the object of someones affection before. For that matter I also know what it is like to covet with desperation. I can play this out. If experience teaches us anything it will be that we can draw upon that past for use now. The Lady Desdemona with her regal poise, and long slow voice, I hear her speak to him. To someone.
He will hunt us down.
Ibrahim proved himself useful when he wasn't enjoying the bread. He seemed to know just when to draw attention so that I could leave a trail for my target to follow. I am commanded by the powers that be to make this man, the target, come to me. This was not the way I would have it, but it is not for me to choose. I am beginning to despise this new world order. Edict or not, it is not right to expect me the black whore. Figuratively, of course. I am above this type of behavior, but, a contract is binding. I have agreed to fulfill it, and am being compensated well. There is something to be said for knowing your place in this world. Then again, there is something to be said for rooftops, too. I'd prefer the latter.
I was told a story once, of a great woman who knew her place. It always struck a chord with me. She had been a woman of plainness and not particularly beautiful for the times but, she had command of a powerful man. Moreover, a man she wanted and desired, held captive by her guile. It was not without rumor as to how. Some had said she was a witch who enthralled him with a poison. Others had said she begged the Moons, and her wish was granted. One proclamation was more simplistic in nature. It had been said she would give him just enough to instill the want of her, and then she would walk, sometimes run away. Subsequently, this powerful man would chase her, want her, have to have her. She became his obsession. He gave up companion, Home Stone, religious affiliation, and almost his monarchy. Just to have her? Just to hold her? No, just to posses her. When the hunt for her had come to an end, bored of her whims, he betrayed her. I do not believe she was a heretic as the story's end would have us conclude. It is my feeling she was done in by love. Lust is a chase, love is a conqueror. Love after all, had chopped off her head in a market square. Love had watched it roll into the awaiting basket. Love had left her to the flies and spectators.
I had been seen. Stalking me across the room. It is like being a feast at the pulpit of the poor. Or, more like kaissa, if played right, of course. A moved piece, a first pawn, sacrificed for the long war and not the quick battle. A taste of things to come. It isn't as if we have never been the object of someones affection before. For that matter I also know what it is like to covet with desperation. I can play this out. If experience teaches us anything it will be that we can draw upon that past for use now. The Lady Desdemona with her regal poise, and long slow voice, I hear her speak to him. To someone.
He will hunt us down.
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