A Haunting Beauty,
Like many a man I was always aware of this term, however now I would examine it in length, a lingering, an unwanted yet desired sensation of wonder and awe.
I am not like most men in another regard, I am a learned individual of the occult. Not in some cultist fashion or new age white witchery mind you. No, not devil worship, or elementalism, nor any other such thing that easily springs to mind. I was raised among old books, forbidden scrolls, and forgotten tablets. To say my ancestry of this last century obtained these things through rather improper and illegal means would be an understatement. A private collection that we through our clandestine decisions of worth and valor concluded the outside world was unfit to know. In private we'd practice these spells, the chants, increase our wealth and longevity yes, although I suspected more so as a show to our own kin at our sorcery as there was nothing to practice for. No grand ruling class of sorcerers, although we were and I suppose still are among the elite of the wealthy of this world; many a relative involved in politics; although aside from the mental devilry required to persuade electorals and candidates and whatnot there is no grand use of conjuring here, the skills required there are mere mind tricks any novice could master, and our position simply gave my relatives access to those individuals to puppet for their own means and goals.
Although perhaps I have gotten away from myself and what I mean to mind with this unveiling of my own damaged psyche. For it is back among the assortment of sordid texts that I find myself and not this world of glamors. I had taken a liking to a strange passage in a grimoire. Stories about a haunting beauty unlike any other, a spirit, a fairy queen.
It is written that her voice alone can bring mortals to orgasm,
Yet no one has known her embrace who has not vanished from this world,
Despite this many a mortal, god, and monster has wasted their lives in pursuit of her, with those most unlucky who pursue too eagerly to her disdain to be felled by her or her attendents.
In these passages I wanderered why call such a thing a fairy queen and not a goddess; the answer the texts did tell was that she was not a goddess for she held no dominion over any mortal realm or aspect of human character; nor was she worshipped for she would not heed mortal prayers, and no temples were built in her honor. It goes on to tell that statues and wood carvings in her image were dismissed by their creators as abstract impressions of her or else outright destroyed for failing to capture her haunting beauty. For she was a thing not made of life, nor death, nor unlife even. How could a limited medium of any one nature hope to capture the truth of what befalls those fortunate or unfortunate enough to enter her presence.
I would have thought this just a fanciful metaphor, some perfection that could not be obtained and madness to those who try. However this was not the work of a philosopher or an artists. Although hidden by a madman's haste; for this text it was said was written and arranged by a lunatic, driven to insanity by the very cosmic secrets he did seek for the sole purpose of imprinting them to paper. Lost among the many summoning spells, and enchantments of the text. No proper order at all, and dangerous really to read front to back, for the very first entry alone if spoken aloud could summon an invisible force of un-death to torment the living.
The spell for this fairy was not a summoning spell, nor even a proper tracking spell, or at least I would learn that upon casting it. I did not see any map in my head pinpointing their direction, no invisible aura trail made visible to my senses, no psychic intuition to point at a globe or a map to indicate her exact location. It was a yearning, a terrible lustful yearning. A general direction, so unexpected it was a struggle to change direction, my feet could very well slam me into a wall, my lost senses walk off a cliff. I had to dim the influence enough just to hold my stance, trying to drive the winding roads to pursue this sensation would be tricky...In the end I mostly went by foot, and through great struggles in which I could feel my sanity slipping as I took to arguing with myself over the pros and cons of not walking across the sea and taking an alternative route via a plane or a boat. I lost all track of time and self eventually as this duality became my sole reality.
I did in time find myself stumbling through some foreign wood, outside a rather small yet modern town nestled among mountains. The wood seemed to always be spring time as I walked deeper, the yearning grew and took over I assume thanks to the proximity and the subject of my search growing closer. I wish I could have feared what horrible actions such an emotion may have led me to do and convinced me to turn back. I swear that I did come upon a pond, surrounded by glittering fairies; although there was something else about it, a deep darkness that clung to the underside of every branch, leaf, and rock, a darkness so intense it stared back like an angry oblivion. I remember a long flowing gown of ethereal moonlight given substance, long dark hair, and this thing i knew to be her, the woman, turning around, a hint of silvery skin and long pointed fingers like fencing swords I remember, I remeber not her eyes and my head hurts to try, I do not even remember the color of her lips. But I distinctly remember they moved and she spoke.
I do not remember what word she spoke, but I remember what happend. My body contorted in such a terrible manner, such pain mixed with a pleasure I can not describe in any manner to give it justice yet I must try. It was not a mere ejaculation that any man would know, I dare say even some full body ground shaking orgasm would not do it justice; it was as though every tendon, every fiber, ever cell somehow of my being were orgasming at once, forcing my frame to nearly rip its self apart. I passed out.
I found myself upon waking in a full body caste, as I said my family was indeed wealthy, and while filthy with travel and insane yearning I had the state of mind, or at least habit, to take my identification with me. I was told that I was found not where I thought I was, but in the parkinglot in some small modern city in middle America. That I had approached a man who worked in a nearby building before I had my "attack", a medical mystery they put it. Supposedly I had approached this man in a bewildered state and according to witnesses had stared at him with a gaze like a love struck puppy and that the man had said something odd to me, that he had asked me "what do you see when you look at me", and stared me down; and that was when I had my attack. I am told this man was not particularly handsome nor ugly, that he could be more of the former if he tried. However given my condition I was in no position to ask who he was or where I had been exactly. But I am told the man showed no surprise when I had my attack.
Inquiries and idle news stations with nothing else to report would reveal where I was, however the man had seemingly vanished, no one even remembered his name or what he looked like after that who had been a witness. I had returned, in better shape and condition, and not likely to be recognized to that parkinglot. I felt a biting sensation along my legs, I knew the yearning feeling had left me, some icy tingles along my ears despite the warm weather, and an odd whisper in my ear, "you did not find her whole, you found only her eyes and a fraction of her voice, a mumbling from a dream. Seek not the whole if you cannot stand even this."