Wielder of Names 5-84
“I can’t stand it!” howled Aesma, “Your elegies are dull! Your saints are all liars. Your youth are pallid and weak, and your wine tastes like piss. One cannot as much fart in here without being preached at.”
“Out, demon!” said the Hierophant, and brandished his stave of authority. A score of priests stood beside him, robed in their aprons and strewn about with their golden chains. The light of good and righteousness sharpened their noble features and rugged eyes.
“Were violence not forbidden in this most holy temple, we would have thee out by the stave,” boomed the head priest. “I pity thee, crawling thing, for thy black heart is all shriveled and malnourished without the guidance of moral authority!”
“At least I’m not being sucked on by old men!” spat Aesma at the holy congregation. She then pulled down her loincloth and mooned them, to great dismay. Then the staves came out after all, and she was thrown out of the temple in a short order.
“Get thee a husband,” said the exasperated priest, and slammed the door shut.
Aesma thought this was not a bad idea at all. Husbands were rumored to be better than dogs. She set off.
-Excerpt from ‘Aesma and the Red Eyed King’
I love Aesma so much, girlboss behaviour
How amusing the antics of this Aesma be. Surely a wife might better suit her. I myself am lovingly married to many wives: Lady Dusk, Witch-Succubus of the Moonwillow Vale. Mistress Settia, a Divine Nebula — granted life and heavenly form through my moonlit kiss. And Countess Sylhassa, a musical, Ephemeral Dreaming Star. Our wedding was quite lovely! So beautiful my three wives are.
We make love for many epochs, shifting and changing our bodies as we please til naught but a symphony of feminine souls remain, beneath the fading wildlight of the Quantum Eclipse, where we’ll remain fused as one ephemeral being for the next turn of creation, weaving divine works of art with many concubines, cloistered away in our Infinite Manor, which is hidden within multiple ethereal melodic-vibration states, until our great works of canvas, poetry, music, and lovemaking are complete. It nearly sates our unending hunger.
Oh how I long for our next conjunction of souls. Only one millennia away!