In soft candle light
a fallen angel
moves gently around her
wing
tips, brushing up-raised arms
her limbs held immobile by chains
that
vanish into darkness
Head bowed, eyes closed
As though lost in sleep or prayer
She doesn't
see
The knives that caress her skin
or the look of hunger
on the
angels face
Enthralled by the touch
of cold metal on her skin
She doesn't hear
the soft velvet rustle
of the angel reaching for her
with an offering of
pain
Sharper blades stroke her back
forming eldritch patterns
blood drawn on
to skin
She only feels.
Her thoughts lost to the crimson tide
drawn by the pull of steel
Lifted now transformed
by sensation won from pain
her face glows
with the light of heavens
and the angel
falls once more
