The Scottish Play.

Her eyes caught me; a trap for our soul, our heart. Deep within these dark jewels stirs desire for power, lust for wealth. we give it all to her; surrendering everything for the powerful goddess that towers over me - And yet bows to our will. She enters our veins, thickening our blood to dire cruelty. Her submission lays a trap for my urges. We look down. There is blood on my hands. Blood, on my hands! Death smeared across those fingers and palms I know so well! The hands that raised me out of danger, the hands that clasped support for my first steps. Let the child devour the parent! Let the parent reduce the offspring to dust! For I, my very nature, is soaked to the centre, Drenched red. Royal scarlet lins the edges of my vision, and as I sink to my knees in this slough of despair, I glance up through the red glow to see a figure in the doorway; molten silver and gold forming rivulets over his form; burning away flesh to reveal the eyes. She places her hand on my head, presses her mouth to my brow, and then exits through the doorway; passing through Him without a backwards glance.