A short that I wrote ages ago that I intend to expland upon it's about a Priest and his god that he loves very very much.
Simon looked down at his hands. The scars on his palms, just starting to fade. Has it been that long? Had he stalled this long?
“Yes. I’m hungry, darling.”
Chills shot up Simon’s spine. The god of love, his god, was waiting on him.
She slid her pure, thin, milky arms around him. Pulled him close and rested her cheek to his.
Her touch was so warm.
“It’s time, darling.”
She had a hand resting atop his. Bright white against dark brown. Her golden hair cascaded around him and Simon had no doubt in his mind that this was Heaven. The sum of Heaven in this dark chapel room. The angels and the other priests knew nothing of divinity. The other gods were nothing in Love’s sweet presence-
“Simon. The knife. Now.”
The knife, yes, the knife.
Simon stepped towards a small black box, and Love strode with him, lacing their fingers together. There was a time when this alone would have undone him. He would have fallen apart, fainted, died and born again. He was stronger now.
He hated how his hands still shook.
For a few blessed seconds, Simon and Love were walking. They were walking to the market. Down a block in the city. Along the shore on a beach. Simon was unfathomably happy. And then they were at the box, and Simon was weak. He looked at the thing. It was angry, the blade trapped within wanted everything that was his. It wanted Love, her smile, her soft blue eyes, her sweet voice that said his name so kindly, it wanted to hurt him.
“It can't be time. I can pray. I’ll do whatever you need-”
Slender fingers squeezed Simon’s neck shut. He was thankful for it, how pathetic could he be? He’s grown past this.
“This is what I need, boy. Do not make me do this for you. Do I need to do this for you?” she let go, and Simon gasped for air.
“No, no, no, no, no, no…” He groped for the box and almost dropped it. He ripped open the velvet hinged box while muttering that he would do this for her, that he was obedient and good, that he worshipped Love and would be her best priest.
The knife was not angry or jealous. It simply sat there, snug and comfortable in its silk lining. Still polished from its last use. Simon plucked it into his hand and wondered if it had always been this heavy.
“There we are darling. Always so good for me. That’s why you're here. So many others wished they could be here. None of them deserve this, sweet love.”
She punctuated her praise with a kiss to Simon’s temple.
Too much, he was thankful she was still behind him. If he had to look into her brilliant blue eyes after such a gesture he’d die. He would fall away and burn in hell for all the longing he felt for someone truly divine and good and-
“Simon! Please.”
Right. Yes. the knife, the knife.
He pressed the metal to his wrist. Pulled back and pressed it to his palm. His fingertips. His inner elbow. He just couldn't. What was he doing? He can't do this, this has to stop this isn't what she needs can't he just pray!?
A sigh against his neck.
“Oh sweet. You never struggle like this. Have I been neglecting you?”
“No, never. You’ve given me everything. I’m nothing without you.”
Love smiled into his nape. He could feel it. “Exactly, nothing. Do it. Make something of yourself.”
Simon plunged the knife through his hand. He bit back a scream and his teeth tore into his cheek. Blood dripped from his hand and his mouth onto the wood floorboards. The floor of the chapel drank greedily. Love drank.
“Good boy, there’s my priest”
The knife split open Simon from the wrist to the elbow. He stabbed into his stomach, two, three, five, seven times. He was yelling, not in pain, he was chanting in reverence. He had no idea what he was saying.
The knife sank into his thighs. Love glowed with power, with blood and worship and beauty that would make the most prized queens green with envy.
Simon was in bliss.
Simon was in agony.
Simon was about to pass out.
“There we are, darling. What were you so scared of? Just relax. Sleep. I’ll take care of you now.
Blood stained blond hair fell around Simon. He felt cold.
He felt loved.
He slipped into sleep, thinking of his god’s beautiful eyes.