Eternity’s Kiss
written by: Dee Allen
Paralysed Age. Garden Of Delight. House Of Usher. Deus Ex Lumina. Wisborg. Merciful Nuns. Near Earth Orbit. Dark. Your Life On Hold. La Scaltra. Scarlet Dorn. Lord Of The Lost. Sundenrausch. Each, an amazing Darkwave band from Deutschland, to feed my ears and pass the minutes by. But the one keeping its place in my heart for always is Blutengel. Founded by Chris Pohl. Regardless of which I nourish my head and heart with, songs by the mostly female band from Berlin, like sorcerer’s incantations, call forth this same mental vision:
Another Saturday night at the club. Busy. Full of fun. Children of the night flood the place with funeral wake black—dancing. Getting their Goth on, while winsome whispering witnesses do what gossips do best. Into this lively scene, an elegant stranger walks—blends in perfectly like hazelnut-flavoured crème into a cup of ink-black coffee.
He meets her among flashing strobelights and thumping synth-bass of German Futurepop. Straight, long strands of red hair, shiny as copper, vermilion lips, slender, pale, pretty thing in a coal-coloured floor-length dress made for cotillions. Potential companion.
She meets him on the animated dance floor, alive with bodies contorting in multiple moves and energies. Tall, clean-shaven, inky-haired, equally pale, prepossessing sight in a dark two-piece suit and tie. Every straight woman’s coveted desire.
They establish their connection in a few dances. Starting out the round with upraised arms in movements likened to oak tree branches in mid-forced wind. With the abrupt change in song, the elegant stranger and his fire-haired partner switch to a ballroom waltz with him in the lead, taking her by the arm. Quick pirouette and their waltz starts.
His steely grey eyes stare into her chocolate eyes as his right hand wrapped around her waist, her right hand holding onto his left hand. They gently proceed into 3 simple box steps, done over and over, soon fleet of foot, soon picking up the pace in circles. Both of them moving in a nightclub with more spectators than dancers at the moment.
The waltzing couple’s dance is complete. Sudden applause.
“This night belongs to us both,” he whispers to his flame-haired companion.
“Damn right it belongs to us!” she gleefully replies. “Look at how we out-danced these preening fucks!”
Happy, yet needing to relax from dancing, she comes back with: “So—you wanna drink?”
“I’ll drink—much later.”
The handsome stranger in the black business suit escorts his red-haired companion across a crowded club. They find a corner to themselves, away from the busy bar, away from heavily made-up, overdressed Rivetheads and Goths, caught up in dancing in the light to another synth-driven Darkwave track.
He of the steely grey eyes boldly asks: “Tell me something. How would you like to enjoy more nights like this—nights of immense pleasure—for always?”
“With you? I’m enjoying this night already, thank you,” she of the cocoa brown eyes replies with a smile. “But for always? I don’t understand the question you’re asking.”
Puzzled by his line of questioning, she had to inform him where she stood. “Besides, we just met and even though you’re a great dancer, you seem to be rushing into things too quickly.”
She turns from his penetrating gaze and moves toward the hallway leading to the club’s front door.
He follows her, grabs her by the arm, and out comes another question: “Have you said your farewell to the sun yet?”
“LET GO OF MY ARM!” she bellows, tearing herself from his grip. “You should know what rejection looks like! And what’s up with your weird, cryptic-ass ques—”
Her outrage is swiftly silenced by his kiss. This time, her wide-eyed fit of resistance slouched into surrender to this handsome stranger. He has her pinned to the vestibule wall. Her two hands caress his back. “My car,” she whispers to him. “Let’s go. To my car. I’m parked around the corner.”
Both impassioned Goths leave the nightclub running, a beeline made for the shiny black Bentley Flying Spur luxury ride parked. The back door, good as open.
Inside the Bentley, the making of lust continues in the back seat. He crouched above, she lying below. The instant heat between them arises, expressed in loosened clothing, kisses, and bodily strokes.
Then long-nailed hand brushes the red hair aside from her white neck, leaving it bare.
His head and neck crane upward, as if he’s submitting to some dark urge within him. His grey eyes turn an unnatural stark white. His head comes down full upon her bare neck.
This kiss is deeper than any she’d received from anyone, man, woman, or other. But her reaction to it is adverse. It feels like a quick dagger stab. Her soft moans become a gurgling death rattle. Her strength and vitality leave her body.
Her blood stains his jaw, moistens his lips and now-sharp teeth. Her precious life, siphoned into his body ounce by ounce, invigorating this soultaker. Man with a soul of ice. A real king of blood.
The kiss promises death and eternity.
His long left index finger nail drags across his right wrist. A slit is made. A vein is open and bleeding. He brings his exsanguinating wrist to her lips.
“Now, we can have that drink.”
Her lips are placed upon his draining wrist slit, savouring each deep red drop she took in her two hands. Surrender to the darkness.
“Your new life—our relationship—begins here, my lady. To enjoy long nights of pleasure—-for always.”
- Infestation Day - November 12, 2024
- Eternity’s Kiss - August 20, 2024
- Among The Ruins - July 20, 2023
