The battle is lost

At least it has all the appearance of it. When I posted the previous entry about the near-accident, which left me so elated for having been saved, I didn't yet know what disastrous news I was still in for that same night.
I probably should still be grateful to have been spared much worse disaster, as in physical harm. But that same night, something anticipated each waking hour for precisely three months and one day was taken away and utterly destroyed. Something that had been meant for me, that I still believe my Master had meant for me, and I couldn't understand how it could be that it was simply taken away now.
But I guess it's just because humans have free will and, like most, those involved in this matter are greedy, ignorant scum, ignorant of any deeper significance in anything and merely interested in their own profit.

As a matter of fact I lost a huge amount of money to this matter as well, at least a huge amount for someone like me, which I'm unlikely to regain a single penny of. But although I'm anything but wealthy, the financial one is the least significant aspect of my loss.

I hate to admit that when suffering a really hard blow I'm prone to falling into a bottomless depression out of which I have no idea how to ever emerge again.

Someone in one of the gore groups posted a video of a guy, presumably on drugs, who kept repeatedly headbutting a bus, really hard, but needless to say the bus ignored the provocation.
Somehow I feel a bit like that guy, for dwelling on it, for being desperate to talk to someone about it, when there's nothing further to be said about it and the only person I should really talk to is my Master. Which I do, of course, but I wish I had the knowledge and ability to do it in a way as to truly converse with him.

Instead, I'm running. Not just literally, for workout. I spontaneously decided to travel once more although I can barely afford it, especially now. But I decided it was better in the short term, and less final, than considering to leave this place of trial for good. The weather right now is quite favorable for the late season and so I decided to grab the opportunity. I asked my Master to look out for me though as I'm in a really fucked-up state of mind right now.

As always, it is with him, with Satan's son, that I find my only comfort.
I'll probably start writing another story soon; they're for me to have something to really live in.
All these stories are open ended. Why? Because what comes after is entirely up to him; what comes after is entirely unknown to me or to any mere mortal. Because unlike in the movie, there will be a happy end, there will be victory. It's my stories, after all.

Visions of Apocalypse give me solace. Why would someone want to perpetuate all this trial and suffering here! I sure wouldn't mind if our President and Little Rocket Man of North Korea could work something out together to end it all... If it were that easy. Some people seem to be so naive to believe that.
But Hiroshima and Nagasaki didn't exactly end the world, obviously, and even though they're said to have been mere firecrackers compared to modern nukes, which can be thousands of times more powerful, a lot of those have been tested in the past, and even the most powerful of all, the 50 megaton Tsar Bomba, produced a mushroom cloud of 40 miles high and spread quite a bit of fallout, but didn't cause any long term damage at all.

I find solace in the darkest art and poetry. I'd have wished to perform some of my own on cam, and also to record some dancing for my sharky girl, my best friend, who told me she'd really love to see it. But sadly, although I did manage to install my webcam again I can't use it because every time I try all I get is a blue screen and my PC will crash. And so I'm reduced to writing.

Where will you run to when you have no place left to run, when all around is on fire?
When right through the flames is the only way left. You must keep running, running - seek the darkness, the darkness is shelter!

Roba El Khaliyeh, known as the Empty Space, that immense desolation.
Roba El Khaliyeh is where I live. (Only a lot colder.)

Oh, and have an Infernally blessed Friday the 13th, everyone!
It's considered unlucky by Christians because JC was crucified on a Friday the 13th, so they say.
Lucky and sacred to Satanists, thus. I had a little good luck in that when I bought a sixpack of coke at the supermarket I later discovered I was charged for a sixpack of water instead, which costs 19 cents a bottle instead of 39. LOL
I was also lucky in still getting a hostel bed and a train ride for Sunday.
Other than that, I still feel much like it's me who has been crucified right now.
But that was three days ago - actually time to rise again... ;)

The battle rages on and on

Today was leg day once more. I started, as usual, on the treadmill with a 5 minute warm-up, followed by short sets of sprints with breaks in between, all in all spending about 20 minutes on the treadmill.
I did 10 sets today, starting out with 17 kph and a 10% incline. (17 kph is really slow for a sprint? Sure, I can run at that speed for several minutes continuously - without the incline! At 10% incline, 30 seconds on a good day, steps up the game to a whole new level. Try it!)
I did 3 sets at these settings, then lowered the incline and ramped up the speed. Each set lasting to failure, having to grab handrails and jump out, trying to last at least 20 seconds each time, counting down to the start of the next set, drill sergeant style as usual - not giving a shit what others might think, I'm a pro and it helps me motivate myself.
"30 seconds - mark! - Get your ass ready, for nuclear war! In 20! Ten! Five! Go!!!"
Your last battle on Earth, oh yeah right!
Do everything like it's your last battle on Earth - make it count. For it might always quite possibly be your last one.
This one's from Carlos Castaneda. And when you find good advice, you best keep it.

The squats then, for some reason, didn't go so well for me, at least at one point. I did them right after the sprints, but that's nothing unusual.
I did a warm-up set, 20 reps with 90 kg barbell. Then I increased to 110 kg, which ain't no really heavy weight for me. I've done free squats with 150 and on the Smith machine up to 180 kg,but then just some 5 reps or so.
I meant to do 16 with the 110 kg, 15 of which went just fine. At #16, sudden and complete failure - absolutely no idea how or why. I couldn't get up again to rack the barbell, then lost balance, the bar crashing down onto the horizontal side rails of the squat rack and me hanging underneath it, on my knees, in a brief moment of shock. I quickly realized everything was fine, praise Satan.
"Praise Satan," was what I then said indeed as I got up, leaning on the bar, catching my breath. And next I said, "Fuck the Pope!" (Typical expression of mine.) In fact I'm not quite sure about the order in which I uttered both things, but I think it was this one. I'm not quite sure either if anyone noticed but I didn't care.
I suddenly felt really blessed, knowing this could have ended really disastrously, and knowing also pretty well who was watching over me.

I had to take off 50 kg of weight in order to be able to rack the bar back in position. Then I put the weights back on as before and proceeded to do another set with the same weight as before.
My Master doesn't save me for quitting...
That next set went perfectly fine again. Then a guy showed up to ask, in German, how many more sets I was doing. I understood and said, "Two more."
"Two?" he asked, and I confirmed again. He walked away to probably do something else in the meantime.
Two more sets I did, but after stacking the weight up to 130 kg.
I continued all the rest of the workout as usual, feeling strong again. No idea what had caused that momentary lapse and near-accident. Maybe it was meant this way, for me to realize something.

I had had another nightmare the other night, of my fucked-up childhood. The same way all my nightmares are - they're never scary, of the waking-up-screaming kind, but instead they're just absolutely depressing, either of being trapped with my "birth family" and the stupid, pointless fights, or imprisoned in the juvenile psychiatry where they had put me; my nightmares are of indignity and failure, the same indignity and failure that once was my life.
This particular dream was of the psychiatry once more. The only good thing about it was that my last thought in the dream was, "If only I could be back at my home, with my colored lights and all the things I cherish, and at peace." Then I woke up, and there I was!

I fortunately no longer have these nightmares as often as I used to. But this particular one, I think, may have come from recent worries I've had. Worries about being never good enough, about possibly still being seen as that same indignity and failure I once was. About being unworthy.

After today's near-accident, things felt strangely changed. I felt happy... blessed. I somehow felt my Master's touch on me. His watchful presence.


Being a pro athlete I know very well that you always have to respect the weights and handle them with care. Handling seriously heavy weights can't be taken lightly.
It can be dangerous even when you do everything right, as demonstrated by the incident. As is riding the bicycle. I heard that some decades ago, many cyclists died in traffic and they held rallies to have the roads made safer for them, which was eventually done. That was long before I was even born, back in the 70s I guess. It's much safer nowadays, but nothing's ever perfectly safe. In particular for the kid who has to always ride faster than everyone else. That same kid who has to lift heavier than everyone else. :D

And then ultimately, everything comes down to faith. Being a mere mortal, so much is beyond your control. Who will you put your faith in? To whom will you entrust your fate? Your life, your soul?
I'm truly grateful that to me personally, the answer to these questions is above and beyond all doubt.
Faith is everything.
Honor and loyalty.
Praise Satan!

The winter drawing in...

I miss the squeaky toys in the nocturnal woods. I don't know for sure what they are - some nocturnal animals with screechy voices, always coming from the ground, so they're not birds. Someone suggested they're probably foxes, and I think that's most likely true, but since I can't be perfectly sure I just keep calling them squeaky toys. I miss the beautiful nights up in the woods, staring at the clouds surrounding the moon, or simply into the darkness, bats flitting above my head uttering their strange clicking sounds, and seeing the glowworms by the side of the trail.
But Germany is freezing cold already, way too cold to roam outdoors, especially in the night, and especially for cold blooded creatures like myself. It's in part that reptilian aspect I seem to possess. I may also have Raynaud's disease.

"I feel the winter drawing in, on Hangman's Hyll" (I looove this song!)

Growing out my undercut for the
cold season.

Running yesterday went well again though. I was miserably cold only during the first mile or so, the first of about eight. In 64 minutes. That may sound awfully slow for a young pro athlete, but it was over 100 m elevation, up, halfway down, up once more, and part of the way up extremely muddy trails, in the rain. I stop running outside only when it's less than 40 F, at that point I'll stick to the treadmills. But while I can I prefer the woods, the mud, the real trails, a glimpse of wilderness and freedom.
Today, workout at the gym again. Working to push my chin-ups beyond 20 in one set, 20 is ok but there's only onward and upward.

I miss Amsterdam too, but even if I could afford traveling there more than once a year, right now the long, long winter is ahead, no longer the time to spend all day on a bicycle.
But an afterglow shall remain. It's the month of Halloween, and next Friday will be the 13th. It is a holy time, and this is the way I will see it, this is what I will hold on to - holy to the Infernal Father.
Faith is everything, thus I have been taught, and is all that remains while being swept ever further toward the uncertain, the unknown, the inevitable.

I pray, Satan, Lord, Thy Will be done,
And that each road I travel on
With Thy magic Thou guardest,
Thine Infernal Powers armor me,
That they who would sow harm on me
All but their own ruin harvest

The faith, unbending intent, and the power of a warrior are what I have in my favor, what I must use to venture onward. There seem to be others who are more gifted to sense what lies beyond. There are those who feel irresistibly drawn to it, regardless. For this here is a place of trial.

I made a new cover for my Facebook profile, editing in Photoshop the handwritten invocation verse from my song lyrics "Overhead the Crows". It's so totally at odds now with my current profile pic, because that's the one from the previous entry and it's silly. I don't care. LOL

How I answer my phone

This is how I answer my phone. LOL

And yes, it's a rotary dial landline. Probably a lot older than myself, from a fleamarket.
I never had any other.

All is battle, is trial, is war

Past the Equinox, and again the nights last longer than the daylight hours now.
I sort of celebrated the holiday - the Equinox being one of the eight Sabbath nights of each year - but only later at night. Earlier, I was quite a bit creative that day, recording a brandnew song (a cappella; I'm not good with the keyboard anyway and these days I prefer to focus on my singing instead, but recording is very unprofessional, using 5 € mic), My Battle Cry, as well as finishing my latest story and publishing it here - it's the previous entry.

I also had a little Fuk-uppy the day before.
You shouldn't talk about stuff you shouldn't talk about.
Even if I was never told that I shouldn't talk about it, at least not that I know about - but that's retarded excuses!
It's nothing illegal or even dangerous - at least not physically dangerous; about spiritually, that may be a whole different matter though.
And yes, I did already talk about it to others before, but I should definitely restrict any discussion of it to my two best friends, who have some understanding of my world.

And I absolutely should have known better. The person I talked to about the restricted stuff is also a friend of mine, not a Satanist but she's in a group related to magick and I was under the impression that she had some understanding of the nature of things. I'm talking about very, very basic understanding only, because I can by no means claim anything more than that for myself. It's true that I know nearly nothing about magick. I seem to be a theoretician for the most part, and even that on the lowest level. I have a grasp of general concepts such as synchronicity, I know that signs are meant to be read, and I was taught there's no such thing as coincidence - or at least not in the presence of significance.
But this certain friend previously even suggested that I post my stories in that Facebook group - which is completely unrelated to the other matter but should have been a clue that she might not understand me.
"What stories, about me and my Master?" I asked somewhat shocked.
No, I'm not mad at my friend, not at all. It was my mistake to talk about the other matter, and concerning her suggestion of posting my private stuff to the group, I'm simply perplexed is all.

Yes, the stories are on my blog right here, for all the world to read - but this is my blog, and no one can comment on it without my approval.
Some of the things on here are very, very personal, but this is my personal space. My "graffiti on the fabric of spacetime", as I called it previously, to show I've been here, that my life is happening and is real somehow, even if only to myself, alien to this world; if only evident in some communications on Facebook, and in the words written here.
Here you can have a glimpse inside my strange life if you like - anyone; but if you don't like it GTFO. My life is the way it is, and is NOT open for discussion.
Even much less is my Master!
My Master is sacred, he is Satan's son, and I won't ever allow a bad word about him!!!

And I curse all the scum that tried to take him away from me, all those many years ago. They even tried to take Satan away from me.
But no one can ever take away Satan - no fucking scum in the world can!!!

See, this is what's happening in here: very personal stuff about my personal life. Including my fucked-up past, when fucked-up scum (so-called "birth family" along with their cronies) tried to ruin my life.

My life is not open for debate. I won't tolerate interference with it - not ever again, now that I'm no longer a child but a WARRIOR!
I ain't no fucking proletarian, and I ain't Scheiße, unlike they were (my "birth family").
I deserve to be a warrior - I fought for this all my life, and fight is what warriors like me do!!!

No, this rant and hate above is certainly NOT addressed to my Facebook friend - it's about assholes in my past when I was a teenager.
But if I posted contents of this blog to some FB group that's not even about Satanism... what do you think would happen?!
It would be asking to get dragged into the Scheiße!
For what reason might I possibly want to do such a thing?!

Yes, I'm aware there are types of people who like to provoke or even to troll, and who feel entertained by others getting pissed off at them.
But I'm lightyears removed from such a mindset, I'm an extremely introverted person and rather inept at interacting with people.
I may be antisocial, but the very quiet type of antisocial.
But even if I ever should decide to post something just in order to provoke reactions, I'd certainly choose something other than myself as a target, let alone things that are sacred.

"Here's a picture of the Pope, feel free to toss some rotten eggs at him!"

Seriously, feel free to. Anytime.
But why would anyone ask to have rotten eggs tossed at themselves, or at things or people dear to them?!
Maybe some would, but that's beyond me.

What?
Oh, you're disappointed I don't actually have a pic of the Pope here now?
Sorry, I don't.
But wait, I got a picture of Jesus!
Feel free to toss rotten eggs at him, as many as you please!
But keep in mind, it's on your screen. LOL

The Wheel

[Warning: Another gory story; if you don't appreciate some nice massacre, GTFO now.]
~~~

Whenever it's bulky refuse, three or four times a year, and people toss out their old, unwanted furniture and other items too large to fit in a trash can, other people with little money scour the streets for items that can still be used. Some even come with vans or pickups to collect things to fix and later re-sell. Most of my own furniture has always been from the trash, and whenever it's bulky refuse I can't help looking if there might be something worth saving.

This evening I noticed there this mirror in a large, wooden frame, the size of a door. The wood was black and beautifully carved, raised from the mirror itself by over two inches. But the mirror itself, sadly, was completely shattered, with large shards broken out. It was such a shame, I thought, for it had been a really beautiful mirror.
So I rode on, then later passed it once more on my way back home and couldn't help looking once more.
I had other mirrors with cracks in them, so maybe... but no, this one was beyond rescue.

I carried my bike down the stairs into the basement. But as I walked back up, instead of going all the way upstairs to my apartment I went out the front door once more and walked back to where the mirror was leaning against a house wall; for some reason I felt compelled to look at it once more.
And when I got back there I found it didn't even look that bad - for some reason I thought I had seen most of the mirror glass lying shattered on the pavement, but this wasn't really the case. There were only some few, small splinters on the ground. Of course, there were the several spots of impact where the mirror glass had been shattered; it looked much like it had been done deliberately.
Some people are such assholes, I thought, they have to destroy things before tossing them out, just out of jealousy that someone else might still use them otherwise.
This thought gave me a bad vibe which I feared would keep hanging on to this mirror - and yet, it would be such a shame to leave it behind to get destroyed in the garbage truck the next morning.

I tried lifting it. It was solid wood and thick glass - the thing was damn heavy. But if anyone could carry it all by herself, that would be me!
And so I did, although having to set it down and take breaks frequently. It was quite some distance to walk with it, and I was repeatedly asking myself what I was actually doing here and if it was really worth it. But I carried on, for some reason I had to.

I didn't even really have space for it. Might have to toss out some other stuff sitting in the corridor.
And there I finally arrived with the huge mirror. It didn't fit through the doorways vertically as it was the same height as a door, and I had to maneuver it around quite a bit.

Then finally, there it was, leaning against the wall in my corridor. There I left it and settled down in my room for the evening. It had been quite an ordeal for a so badly damaged mirror.
But whenever I passed it on the way to the bathroom or kitchen I seemed to like it better and to feel it didn't look that bad.

Only the next morning I realized something really weird seemed to be going on with it. And I mean really, really weird.
The previous evening I had thought that I had simply misjudged the extent of the damage in the start, that it hadn't really been as bad as I first thought. But now on closer inspection, some of the cracks in the glass seemed to have fused. There had been a few places where shards had broken out completely and the wood behind had been visible. In those spots, new mirror glass seemed to have formed! It looked like pools of quick silver that had strangely oozed out of the wood behind to replace the broken shards!
As I said, really, really weird.

I rode to the gym for my regular workout, all the while wondering if I hadn't dreamed or imagined this weird shit.
But when I got home some hours later it was apparent that the mirror was "healing" itself. Most of the cracks had partially fused and greatly diminished.
It was exciting but also eerie and disturbing to witness that each time I looked at it the mirror was more and more whole again. Soon there would be only slight creases that had previously been cracks, and the creases were filling up too. It was a process too slow to see, like paint drying, but as with the paint it was happening.

Shortly after darkness fell that night, the mirror was one smooth, intact pane. I stood and marveled at it. This is against the second law of thermodynamics, I thought, entropy always increases, so this shouldn't be happening. But I was excited that it had happened anyway. Laws are there to be broken, right? And I had such an awesome mirror now. One that apparently shared my attitude...

I did some posing in front of it, flexing my large muscles, wearing jeans-style leggings and a camouflage tank top. The next day I'd have to take some photos with the mirror, in the daylight.

But wait a minute. This regenerating mirror surface was seriously weird, no? Yes, I know I said that already, but I mean seriously! What kind of material was it that could do this? For some reason I felt hesitant to touch it.
And as I eventually did I realized with some shock that my intuitive hesitation hadn't been groundless: Upon touching it, the surface would ripple like a liquid!
I withdrew my hand so quickly as if the surface had burned me.

Bewildered, I looked around me for some small object, preferably of some length. There was a trash bag with the compost by the apartment door and I had done some weeding and cutting on the balcony lately. A longish twig was poking out and I took it, avoiding the thorns - it was a bramble. I used the stick to carefully poke the mirror surface.
With a start I quickly withdrew it again - the stick had actually broken the surface like it was a liquid indeed!

But that couldn't be. I had carried this mirror all the way home, I had touched it, had seen the shards, it had been a regular mirror, a hard glass surface. And it wouldn't have been shattered in the first place if it had been anything else. Well then again, it was shattered no longer...
I had to be dreaming. I thought about it, and I'd been in the situation before that I had woken up - thought to have woken, that is - and felt things were wrong somehow but that I couldn't be dreaming, not this time, because it felt so real, and I was pretty sure of being awake until I really woke up.
But not this time...

Carefully I raised the bramble stick to probe the mirror once more. It broke the vertical liquid surface and went smoothly all the way in, all the way up to the hand that was holding it!
Part of my fingers actually went in. It shocked me since it was completely impossible - the length of stick was so far in it should have gone through the back of the mirror and hit the wall behind it, yet still there was no resistance! - and I was going to withdraw my hand again, but that same instant something on the other side seemed to have caught hold of the stick.
The mighty tug barely reached my consciousness as it happened so quickly - and certainly far too quickly for me to let go of the stick.

~~~

I was sitting up on the ground where I had stumbled and rolled. Disoriented, I looked around me in the darkness. A strangely flickering semi-darkness. I closed my eyes to gather my thoughts - this was bullshit and it would have gone away when I opened my eyes again, right? But as I had closed them I became only more aware of the sounds. Some rushing, rustling, echoing... also of distant voices, mostly sounding like wails and lament.
I opened my eyes and still saw the strange, flickering light, like faint reflections of some immense fire, but they seemed to have no source to them. The ground was coarse rock, and I seemed to be in some enormous underground cavern, there were stalactites of colossal proportions hanging from a cave roof somewhere so far above it was out of sight; some of them had fused with stalagmites jutting up from the ground to form massive pillars of rock, and the strange shine from invisible flames was dancing over these rock formations, mixed with occasional shadows too.
There definitely was some activity going on around me; wherever I was, I wasn't alone here, but more than doubtful about whether or not this was a good thing.

Only a few feet from me there was a cluster of several stalagmite columns, and I decided to slip into the narrow space in between them as it might be prudent to stay hidden while trying to figure where I was and what was going on here.

From my hideout I soon beheld some shapes passing by, human shapes wearing hooded black robes. More people stood gathered, mostly in small groups of at least two or three, some distance away where the ground sloped downward from my vantage point so that I had a pretty good view of the surroundings.
Over there, about 50 feet away at the wall of another large cluster of columns, stood two guys, one with long dark hair, the other with shaven head, who were dressed like at a metal concert. They wore pentagrams and inverted crosses and were chatting and laughing like they were having a good time. Some others were definitely not having a good time though. A group of three hooded people, moving in from the left of me, were dragging along two others, a man and a woman, who were wearing everyday clothes which were somewhat ragged and bloodied, and who were bound in thick chains.
There were more people held in chains by the ones in black, some were being tortured by them, with whips and other weapons and instruments.

Myself I was standing here between the columns, unarmed and barefoot, entirely unprepared and clueless about what was going on. It all appeared like a rather infernal setting though, and the two metal guys looked a lot like they might be Satanists, and likely the others were as well. Being a Satanist myself, I told myself I'd probably have nothing much to worry about - which was a good thing since I wasn't really exactly hidden where I stood. I wasn't all too exposed between the columns, yet easily seen by anyone looking my way. I wasn't quite sure but at least the two metal guys had probably spotted me already, they'd been looking over when the new group of hooded folks appeared. In the latter, their faces could barely ever be seen under the large hoods, but there appeared to be both males and females among them. Despite the robes this seemed a rather informal setting, not any formal ritual. What was this place? Was this Hell, and if so, how did I get here?

Some action seemed to be concentrated at a location off to my right and obscured behind the cluster of stalagmite columns where the two metal guys were standing. Maybe I should simply walk over and talk to them - but I could still do that; for now I chose to rather observe for a bit longer.
 I'd have to move over to the left for a better chance to spy what lay hidden behind the stalagmites. So I moved back in between the columns, had to climb up a bit over the rocks to get around the very thick pillar to my left, then moving to the front again between that one and the next pillar. This turned out a more favorable location, I was also a bit further up now and yet a bit closer, and thus had an even better view of the place.
And I saw that what had lain obscured to me before was a sort of abyss from which many single spikes of rock jutted up like needles. And desperately clinging to some of these rock needles, suspended over the abyss beneath, were a few more unfortunate souls. On two rock spikes right in front there were two women, one of them clasping a small child. They were pleading for help, a good ten feet out from the even ground where the Satanic crowd were gathered around, as they were holding on for dear life to the near vertical rock.

On that even ground in front, several bodies lay sprawled out in their blood. What struck me like a lightning bolt though was when I beheld who was in charge here, standing over them. Dressed in black but not wearing a robe unlike most of the others, his long blond hair radiant in the strange fire shine, was Satan's son.
And I was a mere 50 feet away! He looked exactly like in my dreams. Well, and in the movie, known to all as the Warlock. I felt a strong impulse now to run over there and talk to him - but I didn't dare. Even all those hooded folks milling around the place seemed to be keeping a respectful distance to him. I felt really ambiguous, itching to get closer while fearful of doing so, and so I stayed put.

The two women clinging to the rocks above the abyss were pleading with him as he was now crouching over one of the bodies. The woman who was holding the child, a little girl of about five years old, was trying to cover the child's eyes with her arm while still holding on to both the child and the rock they were perched on.
The body to the Warlock's feet was still writhing, apparently in agony. But the Warlock was about to put an end to the young man's agony now; positioned behind the guy's head and holding up his chin, he slit his throat with a dagger. Blood streamed out, washing over the Warlock's fingers.
The child started crying as the two women screamed.
From what I gleaned over the distance, he had demanded the child to be handed over in exchange for the young man's life, and since the woman refused to do so the Warlock had killed the teenage guy, possibly her older son, whose blood was now running over the cave floor toward the abyss as the Warlock stepped to the edge of it, still demanding the child.
"Then jump over here and get her," the woman now yelled at him defiantly.
The distance from the edge of the abyss seemed way too far for any human being to jump, certainly with nothing much to land on or even hold on to.
Hateful though her implication, it only amused the son of Satan. "I am pleased that we have an agreement," he said affably and I flinched at my observation point as he did just what she had suggested, and without any run-up. He simply jumped the three meters distance from where he stood.
The mother tried hard to fight him off and make him lose his balance but he stood on firm ground - ground which wasn't there. He stood safely on thin air. He was a witch. And not any witch but he was Satan's own son. He snatched the child from the arms of the hysterical mother who could barely hold on to the steep rock needle to keep herself from falling while he, now carrying the crying child, walked back to the edge of the abyss on nothing but thin air as on a solid bridge which didn't exist.
The mother then took a desperate decision and jumped, jumped for the Warlock or for the edge of the abyss or both. She even nearly made it, one hand scraping the edge of the solid ground but unable to latch on, while her other hand took hold around the Warlock's booted ankle. But he kicked her in the face with his other foot and she was gone, her death scream echoing from the walls of the abyss as she was swallowed by it.

The two metal guys had watched and they cheered now, but some of the others who were scattered about the place seemed remarkably disinterested and minding their own business, as if there was nothing unusual to be seen here.
The Warlock cruelly threw the child to the ground, then turned away to exchange a few words with the metal guys. From the distance I couldn't discern what was said now as he seemed to be on very friendly terms with them and so no one raised their voices, and some of the others were also talking to each other while the second woman left by herself on the rock spike was crying, and so were some others who were here against their will.
Myself I had my eyes fixed on the Warlock all this time, yet it hit me completely unprepared when he turned back around and, looking straight in my direction, for just an instant his eyes met mine and I felt like my heart was stopping.
Had the metal guys said something about me? Probably not, as they weren't looking my way now. I wasn't even sure if they had really noticed me earlier. But I was sure the Warlock had looked straight into my eyes, for just that brief, paralyzing instant.

He returned his attention now to the child though. A couple of the hooded people had made sure the girl had no chance to escape. Now her blood would be spilled as well, and in most heinous ways, his anger at her mother taken out on her. He took the time to skin her alive with skillful and, no doubt, practiced hand, starting at her ankles and working his way up until he was pulling her skin over her face.
The child now being a skinless, hairless body of raw flesh, he eventually cut her open to remove her heart and devour it.

Some of the hooded folks now came forward to remove all the dead bodies and drop them over the edge of the abyss, an act which seemed to signal the dispersion of this loose gathering. Some stayed where they were, others walked away leisurely.
The Warlock walked away too, but with determination straight in my direction. His words didn't even seem to be addressed to me when he walked up to me.
"Methinks I left something here which is mine," he said, and without warning  he grabbed me, flung me over his shoulder and turned to walk away with me - carrying my muscular body, certainly heavier than his own which was gracefully built, as if I weighed nothing.
Confounded by what was happening to me I gave a cry of mere surprise.

He set me down in front of him and I was looking at his face, as fair and angelical as I remembered it, although now stained with blood.
 "Dost thou protest?" he asked sternly.
"No, my Master," I said gently.
"Dost thou mind a little blood?" he pried further, touching my face with his bloodied hands.
I smiled timidly. "No, I don't."
"Wouldst thou cleanse my face of it then," he asked.
"Sure, my Master," I said and looked around me uncertainly, the vague idea of a tissue paper on mind, "but how should I..."
"Thou shalt use thy tongue," he demanded.
What? I was in all sorts of consternation, embarrassed, my heart racing. "Are... you serious?" I managed.
"Do it!" he ordered, gripping me hard by the shoulders, and gingerly I complied.
I cherished doing it but in some way I also felt uncomfortable about it. Do you even know who I am?
He flicked out his tongue to meet mine, then he gave me a cold smile.
"My Master," I said softly, "I hope you know I wouldn't do this for anyone else, ever."
"My foolish Diana," he hissed back, "I hope thou know'st I would kill thee if thou ever didst."
Such cold words, yet spoken in such familiar tone, and how they warmed my heart! Yes, I knew well when he spoke of killing me it wasn't just a hollow phrase as it might be with someone else; I knew he absolutely meant it, be mine alone or die, it was the way he was. But he had spoken my name...

"Certainly I know who thou art, my foolish Diana," he mocked, having read my thought. I knew he could do this, especially at close physical proximity, and he was holding me in his grip like a deadly serpent, his hands still covered in blood.
"Oh my Master, I'm so glad you know," I told him freely, "I wasn't sure, you know, like, I got no clue how I even got here and what this place is; I just poked a mirror with a stick and then I fell into it - oh damn, that sounds so completely nuts, right?"
He chuckled and tousled my hair as if I was a child, which I probably was to him. Yes I know - foolish Diana, I thought.

 His bejeweled hands slowly gliding over my broad shoulders he then seemed to examine me, then down my vascular arms, his hands reaching barely halfway around them.
"You are powerfully built," he acknowledged. "Let me examine your legs."
Obediently I lifted one leg, and he reached for it and with strong grip stretched it all the way up almost vertically, with my foot jutting up above both our heads; I was flexible enough but nearly lost balance and had to hold on to his shoulder, but I couldn't have fallen as he was holding my leg tightly against his other shoulder, almost embracing it, while his hands were probing my thighs and calves, my muscles like thick steel ropes right under my skin, yet my heart so timidly aflutter and not very warrior-like under his unashamed touch.
"A strong runner, are you not?" he remarked.
"Yes I think so, my Master," I said untypically modestly.
"I wish that you run the Wheel," he announced, "will you do this for me?"
"The Wheel?" I asked puzzled.
"'Tis a great apparatus," he explained, "an implement of torture and death. - Worry not, it harms not the one who runneth it," he added, having sensed my heart rate jolting up at his words.
Able to sense my heart rate as a shark can do, I thought while looking into his dark eyes. They were exceptionally beautiful, like everything else about him, and in the dim fire shine of our cavernous location they looked deep black, but there was a tinge of indigo hiding; revealed, just as in the eyes of a great white shark, to the few who dare look close enough.

He took me to another part of the vast caverns which were connected through narrower corridors but appeared to be all part of a natural cave system.
And there at the center of a bowl-shaped hollow loomed the contraption, a giant wheel indeed, about 15 feet in height, at first glance much like a ferris wheel without carts, but with a solid outer rim instead.
"I've seen you running on those machines at the place you go for your athletic praxis," said my Master, "and this one will be quite similar."
"You mean the treadmills at the gym?" I asked bewildered. "And you've seen me there?"
"You were thinking about me," he said, "and so I was thinking about you."
What a mysterious explanation.
The outer rim of that ferris wheel was gleaming with sharp metal, studded with some modest spikes.
It was suspended over a hollow, with a walkway leading to its bottom section, where it was possible to enter in between all the struts and spokes into its inner margin, which was a little over a meter wide, with handrails to the sides, so running inside it as in a giant hamster wheel would be indeed comparable to running a treadmill. The inner floor was laid out with wooden boards that were carved with an intricate pattern of wavy ridges, they felt good under my bare feet, like they would yield perfect grip and prevent slipping; the rest of the wheel was metal. The entire colossus had to weigh at least a ton, I thought; it would have to take quite some power to overcome its inertia - and once this was achieved it would also be difficult to stop it again.

"It takes great power indeed to set it in motion," my Master said, sensing my intimidation at the sight of the huge contraption, "power like thine."
He ran his fingers down the back of my shoulder and again I shuddered under his heart-stopping touch. I couldn't help but reached out my hands to him, however he stopped me, catching me hard by the wrists.
"I make the rules," he ordered sternly, "first thou shalt run the Wheel."
"Of course, my Master." I lowered my eyes, ashamed at my impulse to touch him.

We entered the inner rim together. I was a bit apprehensive, because unlike with the treadmills at the gym there was no outer margin to either side that would remain stationary when the Wheel was in motion and where I could set my feet in case I couldn't keep up running, all I could do was to hoist myself up on the handrails if need be.
"Worry not, you'll have safety assistance right above you," said my Master.
Confused I looked up at the maze of struts above; even to reach the lowest ones I'd have to jump up a bit and I was doubtful if I could do this while running.
But my Master nimbly leapt up and took position among those struts which seemed, along with the handrails, to make up the stationary inner part of the wheel while the moving spokes were on the outside.
He could move with ease among the rigging above me. I smiled up at him, "You're my safety assistance?"

I was more than willing to trust him, and running this very special kind of treadmill seemed like a fun challenge to an athlete like me. However I couldn't really see how this contraption might actually be an "implement of torture and death", as he had announced. Some forlorn and frightened figures were cowering to the walls of the hollow above which the Wheel was suspended, but they were nowhere close to it, and even if they had been, there was a space of nearly three feet between the ground and the Wheel with its outer spikes. Nobody was going to come to harm here, at least not now. I was musing about how this setup could possibly be changed for the Wheel to inflict actual harm, since there wasn't the trace of a doubt that this was its single purpose. I knew my Master - had known him before, and now I had even witnessed for  myself some of his cruel deeds. I knew he wouldn't have any interest in this contraption if it couldn't do actual damage. Perhaps people would be chained in place right underneath it, forced to sit upright or even to stand, I wondered. In any case, this right now was obviously going to be a "dry-run" - just play, or practice.

He was smiling down at me, nodding for me to get started.
My hands on the rails, I tried to push my feet back against the floor underneath. Using great force I could actually feel it moving, only very slightly and sluggishly. I walked forward, up against the incline of the Wheel's inside, using my weight to push that part back down, which helped. My Master was patiently watching from above as I figured out how to get the Wheel in motion. It didn't take me long though and as I was picking up speed it got much easier, much like a bicycle once it's in motion.

"You'll need to run a trifle faster to unleash its power," the Warlock said, having taken position right above me again as I had moved forward against the Wheel's incline.
"Alright, my Master," I replied, picking up on the challenge as was typical for me, "let's crank it up then - to nuclear power!"
"Show me," he prodded further, and I boldly picked up speed, the giant Wheel rumbling on its axis as I did so. The air displaced between the trestles and moving spokes also produced a rushing noise as of a great wind, but with a more pulsing quality in the rhythm of the spokes passing by while I ran.
But something else was also happening as I was speeding up and thereby set loose the Wheel's cruel, demonic secret. There was some other noise rising suddenly, and at first it greatly startled me so that I nearly tripped as some loud, metallic clattering ensued from the outer rim of the Wheel, both directly under my feet as well as above, around its whole circumference.
"You're doing splendidly, go on!" the Warlock encouraged from above.
So I held my speed, although having fallen back into the lowest part of the Wheel as to not speed up any further, while witnessing the gleaming blades of metal bursting forth - I could see only the ones angled off sideways as they were sprouting from the surface directly underneath the floorboards I was running on - and their sprouting was also accompanied by the rise of terrified screams.
Strangely, the moving Wheel was creating a suction, pulling the people who were present in the hollow below right toward its moving rim, now bristling with appalling armaments.
The gleaming flashes of shiny metal rolling past me soon started to mix with the bright red spray of blood as the victims were being dragged underneath it, being torn, sliced and mangled by the myriad of spikes and blades.

This was not a drill, nor just for play or practice - well yes, although to him it probably was play, and I should have known so much better. It most certainly wasn't a "dry-run" at all, as it was wet with blood.
It was a massacre.

The Wheel was now spinning at a steady pace, I just kept going with it running at about 10 miles an hour; falling back a bit toward the backward slope and thus running slightly downhill made it relatively easy but would do little to slow it down since the huge contraption had enormous momentum, weighing many times more than myself. At times a victim's body would be picked up by the spikes and carried up by the Wheel, to be thrown off on its way back down in front of me.
Despite this it took several minutes until it started slowing a little bit, and it seemed that along with the deceleration the Wheel's armaments also started to retract again. Mangled bodies, entrails and severed body parts were piling underneath. And above me in the rigging, the Master was watching the carnage with satisfaction.
"Aye, catch your breath a little while," he said, "and when you feel ready, advance to swift pace one more time, can you do that for me?"
I looked up at him doubtfully, not exactly able to catch my breath much even at the current speed. But he added, "Worry not, I shall get you out when you need to. But I wish to see you going as swift as you're capable of."
I looked up into his eyes. "You'll get me out?"
He confirmed once more, and I was willing to trust. "Alright, my Master. Just give me a moment."
I tried catching my breath as much as possible while staying at the downward slope, still going at least some 8 miles an hour. The tread was wet with blood, and yet the wavy pattern of ridges carved into the floor boards seemed specifically designed to keep it as non-slippery as possible.
Being an athlete, a warrior, I wanted to do this, I wanted to show off my very considerable strength and speed and to reach the finish line he would set for me. Oh let me be good enough for my Master!
"Ok, ready - my Master?"
He was climbing to a more forward position in the rigging and gave me an encouraging nod.
"Alright," I shouted as if impersonating my own drill sergeant as I'd oftentimes do during my workouts, "let's go to thermonuclear level!"
And I took off to the forward slope again, running against its incline with all might, speeding up to 10 miles an hour again, getting still faster, and the Wheel spewed forth again its horrid weaponry, raising a Pandaemonium of gleaming metal, splashing blood and screams of terror and agony, which in my mind took on the appearance of a bizarre fireworks display of bright red and silvery flashes and sprays all around me. I looked up while surely exceeding 12 miles an hour, my Master right above me reassuring me he was ready to assist any moment.
I gave it all I got and perhaps got it up to 15 miles per hour, a speed I knew I could do on a treadmill for half a minute at most. I felt I'd been too bold, felt myself falling back toward the backward slope, but even here I wouldn't be able to keep up with the Wheel's momentum for much longer. I felt my body failing, I couldn't get enough breath, felt my vision blurring, knowing I'd be swept up by the Wheel any moment now--
-- and swept up I was, but not along the circumference of the Wheel by its momentum, but in the strong grip of my Master!
I never saw how, but he had sensed it when I reached my point of no return and had in an instant rescued me at that exact point. All I knew was I found myself up in the rigging, held by his arms as I was momentarily unable to hold myself, but he was holding both of us amongst the rigging as no mortal person would ever have been able to do. I felt dizzy; the Wheel was still spinning fast around us and I had the feeling we were spinning with it.
But I was safe now, held in his embrace and resting my weary head against his shoulder. But I was also acutely aware of being dripping wet; I had just finished an extremely hard workout, after all.
"My Master," I said self-consciously as soon as I could halfway breathe normally again, "I'm sorry I'm so dripping with sweat, don't you think this is nasty?"
With a chuckle he replied, "Nay, 'tis mostly blood, my dear."
I was looking down over my body and only then I realized it wasn't only my bare feet and ankles that were covered in blood but it went all the way up my legs and the rest of my body, my clothes completely drenched, as if I had taken a shower in the blood - which basically I had when in these final moments of my run at that literally slaughterous speed the Wheel had dealt out unprecedented carnage. But to me it had been a serious athletic performance and I had been so focused on it that I hadn't been entirely aware of it, fresh blood being at human body temperature, and I hadn't felt its wetness either as it mixed with my own sweat. As I looked around now, the entire rim of the Wheel, including the tread I'd been running on, was completely covered in blood as well, and a vast mass of bodies lay piled underneath the Wheel, all dead or dying, men, women, children - all mangled, twisted, ripped open, missing limbs or torn to pieces entirely, along with blood drenched rags that were left of the clothes they had been wearing. A few victims had been beheaded or disemboweled by the blades of the Wheel passing over them. Some body parts and entrails lay scattered about, impossible to tell which bodies they had belonged to. I had been vaguely aware that toward the end of my run at its top speed, the monstrous Wheel had pulled in more and more bodies underneath it which came from who knows where - it escaped my comprehension how so many people could have been present in the hollow. And it wasn't quite over yet; although it would very gradually slow down now the Wheel was still spinning under its own momentum while its jagged blades kept butchering away. The greatest mass of bodies lay behind its direction of motion where they tended to get thrown by the armaments; it seemed to be at least a hundred or more, ready to fill a mass grave.

And high up here in the rigging of the infernal Wheel sat the orchestrator of all the carnage, holding in his arms, somewhat like a trophy, the executioner whose service he had employed for it - me.
"Trouble thyself not about it," he said, "thou hast done splendidly well, my little warrior. I love all this blood."
He certainly didn't try to hide his taking great pleasure in having me all covered in blood, fondling my wet hair that was hanging in heavy, dripping crimson streaks over my shoulders and down my back, and a little blood sprayed out as his hand was gliding over my undercut, stroking against the grain where my hair was shaved really short on my temples. I just closed my eyes and thoroughly relished his caress while the Wheel was slowly spinning down around us. And just as the Wheel was spinning down my heart rate was also gradually going down closer to normal. Not all the way back to normal, of course - not while held in the embrace of Satan's son, which was exhilarating and a little bit frightening as it ought to be.

"Diane? Ready to leave?" he asked me after a while.
I raised my head from his shoulder, having recovered from my brutal workout, smiling. "Sure, my Master. Where are we going?"
I was already climbing down into a sort of reverse pull-up on the struts above the tread that was spinning out at a very leisurely pace by now, then jumping down on it into a slow jog and then exiting the Wheel to the side onto the walkway.
"Home, back through your mirror," the Warlock said, exiting after me in the same manner.
"You mean you're coming home with me?"
"I am."
"My Master, that's so awesome!" I was excited - but then I added embarrassed, "Oh well, but it's a hole really, it's so totally messy, I hope you don't..."
"I've seen, I'm familiar with how you live, Diane," he interrupted me as if it were the most obvious thing.
"You've seen?"
"I can see through your eyes, remember?" he reminded me in a tone leaving no doubt about his status of absolute power. "And you need not invite me," he continued, "remember all the letters you wrote me?"
"I sure do, my Master, I don't remember all of what I wrote but..."
"But I do remember," he threw in sharply, "each and every word. You invited me into your life long ago."
"Yes of course, my Master. Would you expect me to dispute this?" I asked reverently.
He took hold of my face as if to make me look up at him, as if I were a whole lot shorter which wasn't the case, made me look straight into his eyes, into that indigo darkness lurking there.
"Now that would be a daft thing to do, would it not?" he said.
"Indeed it would be, my Master," I whispered.

He turned to leave but then loitered, setting his eyes on the dead body of a child that lay on the edge of the walkway where it had been thrown by the spikes of the Wheel. It seemed to have been a little girl, telling from a few long, blonde curls left on one side of her head, otherwise it was hard to tell, so badly mangled was she. Half of her face had been ripped off along with her lower jaw; one leg was also missing, the torso ripped open in various places.
The Warlock squatted over her and started tearing at her maimed body more. He ripped out the spine with her skull still attached, wet with blood and some chunks of flesh dangling on it. This he held out to me as he got up and turned back to me.
"Please take this with you as a gift from me," he said so sweetly as if offering me the loveliest jewel, and so I reached for it, accepting it.
For how could I possibly refuse a gift from my Master! Whatever it be. Holding the spine in my hands, I had no idea what to do with it, it would be quite some work to clean the bones so it wouldn't start rotting, and I'd sure have to hide it out of sight at all t--
--and I screamed as the spine coiled around my arm like a snake and the child's skull, albeit missing its lower jaw, tried to bite me! In a quick, panicked reaction I managed to fling it off me.
There I stood in consternation and embarrassment as the Warlock was laughing at me. And slowly it dawned on me. That spine was merely a dead body part with no life left in it, it couldn't possibly have moved on its own. Unless a witch would cause it to move! A witch with a sense of humor - with a cruel but adorable sense of humor.
"No fucking way," I muttered, although starting to grin myself now, "did you just pull a prank on me?"
He only nodded while still laughing at me. Then he grabbed my hand and pulled me away with him, leaving the spine behind where it had fallen.
I couldn't help but give his hand a loving squeeze as he did so. Yes, someone else in my place might have been mad at him. Sure, I'd have been mad about it if he were someone else. But my Master having fun with me couldn't fail to warm my cold heart... You're so, so adorable, my Master.

In one of the tunnels we traversed on our way back we chanced upon the two metal guys and exchanged greetings, but with a somewhat sheepish impression from their side, as if knowing they weren't really supposed to be here.
"Jaden, Karel, all too curious, were you not?" the Warlock said, to which they both admitted.
"The Wheel?" asked Jaden, the long-haired guy, eyeing me all covered in blood.
"Is she the one?" asked Karel. "Do you think she can do it, Master?"
"If anyone can, 'tis she," Satan's son asserted, "but leave now, and follow us not. You will surely know it when we succeed."
"I'd have loved to see her running the Wheel," Jaden remarked, "just look at those legs..."
"She is mine," the Warlock rebuked sharply.
"She sure is, Master," Jaden agreed more reverently, "she sure looks like she was just made for you."
They both gave the Sign of the Horns and said Hail Satan before we parted, it seemed specifically directed at me and was the only time they addressed me. So I returned the same greeting, "Hail Satan," I said, giving the Sign of the Horns.
The encounter had felt a bit awkward to me, with the guys talking about me but not to me, but I could see the reason for it. It was out of reverence for the Master and recognition of his ownership of me, the claim of which he had made quite clear - from the very start he had, and now again to Jaden. Both of the guys had apparently been trespassing where they weren't supposed to be, had perhaps intended to secretly watch what they weren't meant to, yet they were otherwise loyal souls and Satan's son was lenient with his own.

My Master and I then soon reached the place where I had first found myself after falling through the mirror.
At least I assumed that it was the exact same spot - but there was nothing there, just like I remembered from my arrival here. I had simply found myself in some random spot on the cave floor, without any indication of a gateway or passage I might have come through.
But the Warlock was holding his hands stretched out in front of him, as if probing for something - some energy, a difference in temperature, or what else I didn't know. Before long he zeroed in on a precise spot and spoke some words I didn't understand - a spell. He then made a vast gesture in front of him as if indicating a doorway - and instantly it appeared!
I stood behind him, amazed at the all too familiar sight. The doorway resembled the reverse side of my mirror that I had collected from the trash, but it looked more like a window pane than a mirror; just four or five feet behind it could be seen a wall with wallpaper painted a faded, pastel violet and covered with water stains, there was a teenage girl's pink and purple mountain bike parked in front of this wall, and a mess of various boxes, plastic bags, sneakers, and other items on the floor. The bike was mine, standing in the corridor of my apartment.

I stepped next to my Master with a smile but he stalled, then grabbed me by both shoulders and gave me a look so stern I was at once overcome with concern.
"Hearken, Diane," he said, "this will be far less easy than it appears to your eyes now. Here in this place, which is part of what is called Hell, I can do anything. I can craft the Wheel and have you run it. Here I reign supreme. But I cannot leave for the living world to wage war on it as I desire. I can open the gateway, yet I cannot traverse it - not on my own. I am not meant to be in that world, 'tis why I had need to have you come here first."
"Not meant to be?" I asked troubled.
"Of course, I intend to enter it regardless," he announced, "as you may remember, someone once keenly stated that 'thou shalt bend divine law to thy will'."
At that he paused, emphasizing the significance of his statement, expecting a reaction.
"Yes I do remember it, my Master, but who said this?"
"You did, Diane. You are quite capable of such insight - and of so much more, I hope. You see, this will require sacrifice, yet even that alone will not suffice."
I felt my heart sink at this, and yet I knew I'd have nothing to live for besides the one I was ready to die for.
My throat felt dry, my voice hoary. "I am... I'm willing to die for you, my Master."
He pulled me closer to himself. "You shall not die, my little warrior," he said emphatically, "You have passed the first trial already, which was the Wheel and which has marked you with the blood of many slain - this will be the sacrifice. Yet I require more than this from you."
"What do you require, my Master?"
He slipped his hand into my hair, although streaky and matted with blood, and embraced me. "Your strength of will," he said. "Your loyalty."
"You will always have my loyalty, my Master."
"Your devotion," he asked.
"And my devotion, always," I offered.
He studied my eyes and read in them for a moment, then he kissed me passionately. I felt his need to bond with me completely, and I was more than ready to do so.
"Are you willing to go to battle for me, my little warrior?" he then whispered. "Forsake me not."
"My Master, I love you beyond anything, I'd never forsake you!"

Strangely, this seemed to be what he had waited to hear from me. I could tell which part. The very word he himself shunned to utter.
Holding on to each other we stepped into the mirror, but immediately the familiar corridor on the other side was gone, replaced with a gray maelstrom, and something like an almighty wind was pushing us back, a wind or a current of water, I couldn't tell which and it was most likely something of completely different nature altogether than of the familiar world. It was a psychic force raging against us, the force of the enemy tearing on us to refuse us entrance back into the living world, tearing on us and trying to separate us. I knew if I let go of my Master, this force would likely let me pass through.
Fuck you, I'll never ever let go of him, I love my Master! Fuck off, I'm ready to kill you, bastard tyrant god or whatever you are!
We were straining against this force, and it was on me to fight it down. I felt my stance of defiance was showing an effect.
Defiance, that's my name, remember? 'Diane', plus just three more letters!
The wind was tearing on my long, blood-drenched hair. The blood of many slain - I'm a warrior, and I'm ready to fight you to the death for my Master!
The vile wind current continued trying with all might to separate us, but I was holding on to my Master with more might. Somehow I knew that despite his inhuman power he wouldn't be able to hold on to me by himself if I'd let go; here in this vortex the roles were interchanged, here it was on me to fight for both of us.
I found it very hard to breathe against the maelstrom, but whatever might happen - yes, I'd be willing to die for my Master! I tightened my arms around him - I would not forsake him, not ever!
I love you, my Master!

Suddenly we found ourselves tumbling to the crummy floor and against the bicycle, and with a fast reflex I brought up my leg to prevent the bike from falling on top of us.
"Are you alright, my Master?"
"Aye," he said, getting up already while I was somewhat comically struggling with the bike and then dislodging the bramble from my foot, not knowing where or when I must have stepped on it - the same bramble twig I had used to poke the mirror with at the start of this adventure.
"We made it!" I cheered as I got up and put the bicycle right, and then I clasped my Master into my arms again.

"Diane?"
"Yes, my Master?"
"For how much longer dost thou intend holding me in this way?" he asked, getting a bit impatient.
"Oh, just for the rest of my life, my Master."
"The rest of thy life might last but merely another moment in this case," he threatened.
I looked at his angelical face and boldly decided, "Doesn't matter - it's worth it," and I hugged him again.
He freed himself, however, and pushed me away with such force that I tumbled against the bike and to the floor, and this time the bike fell on top of me.
"I'm sorry, my Master," I muttered somewhat befuddled, "I sure didn't mean to anger you."
He shook his head at me, "Foolish maiden," then he helped me lift the bike off me and reached me his hand.
"Come here," he said leniently, "'twas thy folly after all which helped us cross over."
"What do you mean, my Master?"
"Thine extreme measure of affection for me," he explained with a smile not quite concealing a little trace of contempt in it, "I was, admittedly, not entirely certain it would succeed, yet it did. At times thou needst beat them by turning their own powers against them. They cannot attack such. 'twas our own forces, our Father's, which achieved the rest through the blood sacrifice."
I realized only now that we both were now clean of all the blood of the victims of the Wheel. My Master, who had never been as entirely drenched with it as I had been, except for his hands from his own previous killings, seemed entirely clean of it now, and looking down over my body I found only a few dried specks of it on me, even my clothes and hair were nearly clean of blood. It had been used up by the Infernal forces in getting us through the mirror back into the living world, against the opposition of the Heavens.
"So, ain't we a dream team, my darling," I said lovingly.
"Wouldst thou restrain thine insolent speech," he chided. But then he kissed me.

***

Praise Satan!!!

...that's what a Satanist says to express her gratitude - for my world is whole again today!
I was forlornly browsing Facebook when out of the blue a message dropped in, and it was exactly the one I'd been long hoping for, from my friend in Florida, and telling me everything's fine. So I'm a happy camper today!

Even if here the weather's quite awful. A freezing wind has been going for days and in my room it was down to 66 F today. I rode across the field through the rain just to buy some groceries, and after changing my wet clothes when back home I decided to turn up the heat. I think I've never done that any earlier than October, but there's always a first. It works fine (unlike last year), so no problem.

I also finished a new piece of jewelry yesterday, the Helm of Awe, which should find its intended owner next month if all goes well.

Today I did something else. Not quite sure how awful this is with my steroid-ruined voice, but I did a recording of a song I wrote. An a cappella recording. I know I should do something more with this - more than just add a little reverberation effect in Audacity, the program I used to record it, if only I were (much) better at playing music and knew how to. I dared to upload it to my Soundcloud anyway, so here's Widdershins, and here's the lyrics once more too.