Thorns of Vespertine - The Virgin and the Black Flame

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“The Virgin and the Black Flame” is a theatrical gothic duet, penned in the shadowed cadence of Shakespearean English. It is a tale not only of sacrifice and sorcery, but of intellect, courage, and defiance – where a single girl may yet unmake the Devil’s plan.

This is Thorns of Vespertine conjuring a fire not of Hell – but of resistance.

• Full lyrics writ below
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"In tower high, ‘neath moon most red and wan,
A noble red what should not light upon.
He sought to call the Morning Star by name –
And feed the dark with pure and virgin flame."

Sweet child of dusk, thy breath is mine to take,
To rend the veil, and cause the pit to wake.
One cry from thee shall bring the Lord of Flies –
And turn the stars to coals in midnight skies.

Good sir, thy brow doth sweat despite thy might –
Hast lost thy soul in search of darkest rite?
If devils come at cries of maids in pain,
Then fools are they who think such cries shall gain.

Thy tongue is sharp, yet still thy flesh is key –
One drop of blood shall break eternity.
The scroll is writ, the circle drawn in gold –
And thou, fair lamb, shalt see what none foretold.

A lamb I may be, yet I know thy game –
To damn thy soul in fire for fleeting fame.
But tell me, lord – what dost thou hope to win?
A crown in Hell? A kiss from ash and sin?

A kingdom vast, where angels dare not tread!
To shake the skies and rule the waking dead!
And thou, pale bloom, shalt make the gateway bleed –
The hour is nigh, the stars approve the deed!

Then strike, brave fool, and see what fate doth yield –
For oft the blade doth turn upon the shield.
If blood be key, beware the wrong one's cost –
Some doors, once opened, damn the hand that's lost.

The incense curls, the fire’s tongue grows long…
The chant begins – the air grows thick with song…
Speak not, pale wit, thy jest shall end in flame –
Thy heart shall feed the One-Who-Hath-No-Name!

Then listen well, O lord of ash and sin –
Thy floor is cracked, the mark askew within.
The sigil fails – thy pentacle is flawed…
And I have salt’d the edge where thou applaud.

Thou liest! Nay – the pact! The rite is pure!
The tome is true! The stars were most secure!
What hast thou done? The circle bleeds with light…
The shadows flee – the fire turns to white!

I read thy book ere thou could’st strike the flint.
I traced thy wards and alter’d every hint.
The Virgin stands, untouched by flame or chain…
And thou shalt scream – for I have learn’d thy name.

No one recalls what rose from tower’s flame,
Nor where he went who sought the Devil’s name.
But in the vale, a girl walks free and proud –
With wit as sword, and head forever bowed.