Thorns of Vespertine - Betwixt the Thornéd Heart and Deathless Blight

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“Two paths before me – both be graves in kind:
One for the soul… and one for love consign’d.”

When a weary heir returns to claim his ancient manor, he finds more than dust and shadows – he finds a curse waiting in the rafters. Bitten by a creature of the night, he awakens into hunger. Thirst. Damnation. Yet in the village tavern he had met her – the raven-haired girl with eyes like midnight fire. He would love her forever. Or would he feed?

Thus unfolds “The Raven-Blooded Choice,” a tragic duet of love and damnation, sung in the cursed tongue of yesteryear. In haunting dialogue, man and maiden weigh blood against light, salvation against passion, and the price of walking beneath the sun.

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“Now night hath laid her sable veil full wide,
And moon on silver’d chariot doth ride.
O’er yonder hill, where towers ancient rise,
The manor wakes ‘neath stars’ unblinking eyes.
The wind doth moan through halls where none do sleep,
And stones remember secrets long and deep.
One heir returns, his veins not yet defiled,
To claim the house – once noble, now reviled. ”

O cursed night, O bat with foulest tooth,
That in thy bite hast marr’d my blood and youth!
What devil’s sport hath changèd me so fast,
From man of breath to shade of ages past?

Thou look’st upon me with such wounded flame,
As if thine eyes would speak my secret name.
Art thou afeard to learn what I have been?
Dost feel the pull of blood that lies within?

No bread I crave, nor wine nor gentle meat –
But only blood can make my heart still beat.
Yet ‘mongst this thirst, one star remains above:
The raven girl – my torment and my love.

Thy gaze betrays the thing thou darest not say –
That thou wouldst drink, and cast my soul away.
Yet know thee this: mine house is dark and old,
And thou, poor lamb, wert to the shadow sold.

I found thy name in tomes of rotted page –
Thy line runs back through every blood-stain’d age.
Thy fathers feasted when the moon was red,
Thy mothers wept while mortals bled and fled.

And wouldst thou slay me for thy soul’s repose?
Wouldst draw the blade where thou didst plant the rose?
What is this "life" that thou wouldst buy with death –
To walk in sun and lose love’s final breath?

Yet still I love thee, though my heart grows vile –
Thy breath, thy voice, thy gaze, thy fatal smile.
One choice is left: to drink and walk the light…
Or spurn salvation, and embrace the night.

To be a man, and live, yet feel me not –
Or be a beast, and hold me death-besot.
Thy heart doth know, though trembling hands do fail –
The sun may warm, but love shall not prevail.

O cruel fate, thou double-edged decree!
One path to slay, the other not to see.
If I do drink, thy soul shall fade to naught –
But if I spare, then cursed I stay, love-wrought.

Then take me, love – and let thine anguish cease.
If blood must spill, then let it grant thee peace.
For I have walk’d ‘mongst shades and tombs alone,
And love, once lost, becomes a colder stone.

Wouldst thou forgive, if lips once kiss’d do bite?
Wouldst haunt my dreams, a phantom drench’d in light?
Answer me, love – what wouldst thou have me do?
For both the paths lead far away from you.

Drink, if thou must – and take my soul to keep.
Or stay – and we in dark shall ever sleep.
...and stay – and we in dark doth shall forever sleep.