I don’t know if the shock dropped me to my knees or the exhaustion, perhaps both. The high stain glass windows would have allowed moonlight had there been any. A new moon gave no such quarter.
No, what I saw was illuminated only by the light of dozens of candles of varying size. These candles were different than the warming light of the fyreflys that led me here. If the fyreflys were a warm, soothing embrace, the candles were carnal intercourse. The cathedral was bathed in crimson light.
And that is how I beheld the woman there at the base of the column. Hardly a woman, she seemed to me to be a furnace of lustful energy, with every movement meant to illicit pleasure from herself and anyone who saw her. I did not know if the column seemed a deity to her, the way she worshipped and delighted upon it, or a meal presented after months in the desert, one she would consume ravenously with no regard for its protection.
I tried my best to capture her likeness, though my skill could not do her justice. It is my hope to capture the citizens of this strange land, to document my findings for those who may come before.
Her body was cloaked by raven hair at least as tall as she. Supple leather covered her torso while her arms were free for their licentious movement. A metal ring connected to her chest is matched by one around her neck. For what immoral purpose, I do not know. Leather boots cover most of her legs, connected to her torso covering by a garter. Lace surrounds the small segment of her visible thigh, as though artfully designed to draw forth desire from every inch of her.
But it is her head that has shown me I no longer dwell in lands I know. Two small, bloodred horns penetrated through her forehead, draped with that raven hair.
I’ve no name for this woman, if she be woman at all and not some denizen of the deepest hell. With energy that has drawn forth all my attention and desire, I can think of but one name to give her.