Nature does its best to shield us from the world of spirits and soul hunting fiends,
but we have an unhealthy fascination with living forever, fearlessly self-indulging with no fear of consequences.
That is the very essence of damnation.
Remove the promised threat of being consumed by vermin while roasting on a spit,
awake all the while, the pain so great that screams clog your throat, while the demons surrounding you baste you once more in filth of their own making, and laugh as you suffer.
But you viewed the possibility of such a penalty unworthy of you, only of others.
They fool you every time, these beautiful, succulent demons…
So we stand at the shield, pulling ourselves up to peek over as into our neighbor’s yard to see if they’re available to chat a while.
They answer us when we call with our spells and incantations, wishes, and rituals, bound to them by blood. Blood is the most sacred thing to heaven, and the most desired in hell.
Our soul-snatching, flesh eating neighbors don’t just respond.
They climb over the fence, and charge through the open doors and windows we so willingly, foolishly opened with our candles, crystals, cards and boards, diagrams of pentagrams, and animal sacrifice.
And at the darkest level, without a flicker of light, the bones of mankind are mired in the gory blood of their own sacrifices.
They come at our invitation, these fiends, and take us.
They slip over us like cold, clinging wetsuits, and snatch our minds and wills in clawed fists to bend us to their service.
Still, we take no heed of the rising pyres, believing ourselves the exceptions, beating the odds to live forever with no guilt as those around us scream at the vast, black abyss.
Me and mine, you and yours.
All of us.
Welcome.
Nightshade Stories 