King

A master of perception

Writing lines between the lines

Observing, absorbing, filtering

Before drawing conclusions

Like blood from the vein

Precisely, timed, focused

The essence of the all

Taken

One step at a time

Invocation

The clock struck midnight as the two candles were lit. One for the future and the other for days gone by. A silent lady was present with a scroll and brush in one hand and a long flaming match in the other. The orange flames from the candles and match illuminated three small porcelain dishes upon which were neatly piled three pigments: black, red and white. A forth dish sat apart upon which the silent one placed the burning match so that it could burn to its end.

The scroll and brush were then placed on the floor in such a manner that they formed the Roman numeral V with the three dishes at its summit.

The lady then rose and turned on the spot, making her long white dress sway and the candles flicker. Stepping forward she faded in to darkness as a second lady came forth from it and knelt before the scroll and brush.

In her hands were two pieces of wood carved into the shape of serpents. The one in her left hand was painted black with purple eyes and the one in her right hand was painted white with crimson eyes. She unrolled the scroll and placed a serpent on either side so that the scroll remained open and flat on the floor. She rose, turned and a third lady shadowed past her holding a crystal bowl of water between her hands.

She placed the bowl opposite the dish upon which lay the now spent match and thus completed the symmetry of the objects before her. With the exception of the brush which was laying next to the black serpent. She picked it up with her left hand, dipped it in the bowl of water and with sharp and fast strokes wrote upon the scroll. Then, closing her eyes. She reached out to the pigments, clenched a handful of the first one she felt then threw it on the scroll. With her eyes remaining closed she lay down the brush, gently felt for the serpents and with the tips of her fingers pushed them apart. The scroll sprung back in to its cylindrical shape and she softly sighed knowing that she must remain still until both candles had reached their end.

The Burn

Fire or water

One in the same

From the scars on the mountain

To the warmth of the flame

The Edge

A man lays face down on a trash ridden street with thickening blood trickling from a gash in the side of his neck. He is as still as death can make him as a hand moves his head and his ghostly face comes in to the moonlight. His eyes are glazed, mouth agape and there is a hint of surprise in his features. As if he hasn’t yet realised that he is no more.

The hand takes a brush from the darkness and dips it in his blood as a second hand lays a thick sheet of paper on the ground next to him. As the brush strokes the paper Chinese characters take form and the voice of a man whispers: “These rivers run deep.”

Rook

Caught between

Love and a dream

The path ahead

The only way

Just close your eyes

My child

Let your mind go wild

And your thoughts

Shall paint us

The scene

The Understanding

The reflection of his face shone in her eyes as she stared up towards him. He was looking aged beyond his years with each line and small scar telling a story of violence and turmoil but she had not changed in the slightest. It had to have been around twenty years since they had last met, maybe more. He knew that it couldn’t be her, it wasn’t her but he just wanted to believe it was so that he could feel again.

Synchronicity

There is something in the way you move
That reflects my mind
The projection of who I was
Where I’ve been
Who I am
And what I’ve seen
I see again
Through you

Catharsis

Allow me to grant you my rage for a while as I do not need it for the time being.
Be aware however that it belongs to me and I shall remove it from you as I see fit.

Link .1

“He knows.”

“I know”

“Why is he going along with it?”

“To relive old memories.”

“But his memories are so…this is not going to end well!”

“I know.”

Link .2

Upon a corner chair made of ornately carved French oak sat the man of the hour. His eyes were but shadows as a single overhead white light beamed down upon his skull and sharpened his features.
He was not alone. Just out of his reach sat a woman dressed in white. Her bare back turned to him, straight and toned from the base of her spine to the arcane symbol tattooed upon her neck. Her jet black hair took the form of an inverted V with tips that disappeared over her shoulders. Her legs were hidden underneath a skirt that sprawled across the floor to form a half circle before her. Upon her lap, between her hands, she held a silver chalice engraved with another arcane symbol. From it slivered a wisp of smoke that rose towards her painted face. She inhaled then held her breathe and time seemed to stop in that instant.
The first ritual was now complete.