Consecrated

Patiently now I find myself torn apart. My final submission, resignation. The trees and plants around me fade away into something quite indefinable. Were you to be here you would shortly be consumed too, for soon nothing shall be real, at least not in the way we think. Slowly I close my eyes, unsure whether I might ever be able to open them again. I consider that I might now be experiencing my final thoughts. It seems that now, as I might finally be consumed by the nothing I have dreaded so long, now I hold on to even thought. I use it to record, if only briefly, and if only to you, that which has led me to this exigency.

I must start with the moment that at once was both the beginning and end of my life. Her name was Isibé al. It was in fact her name that first took me. She gave it me in seraphic crystal whisper under a sparkling fountain on a clear luminescent day. I had been reading quietly in the park, relishing the refreshing cool nature of the day. I should have appeared inexistent to her, perhaps I should have seemed null and void. For I was. Until that moment I had been nothing, blank. Her voice flickered and shimmered, as did the wayward drops from the fountain in the sun. Slowly, seriatim, her aspiration filled me as if tapping me. As an artesian well draws up water from strata previously unreachable so did her voice find a part of me untouched.

From that single and emphatic breath of time grew our love. As Isibé al had seen me, so she had seen inside me. Drawn out into the creature she had nurtured I became her second half, her completion. We were tenacious, inseparable.

I can see now that she cast a spell over me that lucific day. I say this to you in all honesty, in the most literal sense. I say this because she was herself a magical creation. Sorcery, witchcraft, mysticism and most importantly spiritualism ebbed from her every movement and her touch commanded the aggregate of seamless reality. This however was her limit, and though this may seem unlike any limit you may understand, so it appeared to her. She passed her time in everduring pursuit of a higher plane, the paragon state of being.

We passed some few notable months together in a state of love that was both profound and divine. Despite this she wrangled with a never ending fealty to something more. Finally, events culminated in a denouement. One very early morning, in the twilight of dawn, I arose to a bed bereft of spirit. Shortly I elicited her figure, tenebrous against a sallow sky, outside at the end of her garden. She stood flailing her arms outwards at all the living planet and screaming an unearthly incantation. Spellbound, I saw her but could do nothing. I was paralyzed, palsied. I felt a sharp sense of disquietude wash over me. I was compelled to stop her but could not.

I grasped the allusion of her theistic praxis. She had consumed months rendering her mores intelligible to me. For years she had been carefully acquainting herself with all that she could disinter concerning a particular antediluvian cult. She had been private in this pursuit, and until myself, had revealed it to nobody. She had been devising means by which to draw power from an alternate reality that you and I have no conception of. She explained to me that this realm was in truth pure energy, a delicate and complete potency. Recently she had spoken more often of this power, she had come to require it to live. Now I finally understood that she meant to become part of it. This morning I would lose her.

Even as I stood, ubiquitous yet inefficacious, so did she fly from me. In a density of light fused with passion her soul, aseity, fled from this world that we know so little. She had stripped herself of her own life. This much is simple truth. But what had she become? I assure you that this, the end for most, was not her final bow. I gazed up at the heavens and saw in the sky a new order, colour and form hitherto hidden, for she was now a part of it.

That mid night, as I lay in perfect flawless quiescence, spoilt only by the subtle Grey Eminence of melancholic adversity, she came. As a wisp she seeped in; her cool essence touched out with boreal jolt. As I beheld her so did she sway above me, pendent in the ether, and ne’er was there a countenance so wrought with the lineament of anguish. Anxious timidity may have held in caducity the will of the ordinary man, yet wanton affectation drew me toward her. I rose in concomitance with her spectral incarnation and advanced behind the tractive spirit to the window. Gazing out at the sky I beheld a most magnificent vision, or was it one of animosity and abomination? At first I looked only to the heavens, yet shortly I realised that this world, once considered my sojourn, had become in totality this fresh yet frightening derivation. Could it be that deep within this terrifyingly beautiful fabric, there screamed the souls of the angels? Then, as surely as the sight had struck my eyes, so did it fade away, almost becoming that background into which it subsided. Had I imagined it?

“Save me,” came the whisper caudate in the frosty air, swirling in my shallow visible breath. She had withdrawn...