I was 17 when I met Victoria.
She was a real belle. She was amazingly beautiful. Skin
white as lily and lips red of blood. Real blood. Everywhere
she'd go you could feel that gloomy wind that followed her.
Her eyes were always somber. Empty, perhaps, but full with
life.
I fell in love immediately. There was nothing I wouldn't
have given up on only for the sake of her happiness.
But happiness was not what Victoria was seeking. I got that
only at the very end.

Did you ever see something you knew you just got to have?
Did you ever feel something deep in soul that told you that
you just got to do something? Well, that's why I started
talking to her.

Victoria was a year younger then me, she was in the 10th
grade. I saw her every day. She was a hard lady to miss. I
can't remember how we even started talking but I found
myself madly crazy for her. And I don't mean just crazy, as
in a crush, and I'm not sure if the word "love" would fit my
feeling as well. Obsession, maybe, or was it yearning?
Sublime? Enslavement? I'm not sure. All I know is that I was
possessed. She possessed me.
We were together for about 5 months when she asked me to cut
her for the first time. I didn't agree.
You see- it was a terrifying request, to make my beloved
bleed. Though I was a dark person myself, somewhat gothic
and obscure, I couldn't overcome this horror I felt when I
heard those words.
My rose, I had no idea she was like me.
All I wanted was her bliss. All I wished was for us to be
together forever. Tied with an eternal bond. When she was
with me I didn't want her to leave, when she was away, I was
longing for the soft touch. She was everything. She was the
world. She was my goddess. She was my Juliet, and I was
nothing in her morbid eyes. She cared for me, I knew that,
but what she felt was nothing in compare of my dark desires.
I needed her. Needed her sweet cherry lips and her
mysterious movements. I loved everything about her. The way
her hair slightly touched my cheeks. The way her scarce
smile slithered to her face when I tried to make her laugh.
The way her eyes stared at me when we eased at night. The
feeling of her worm snowy skin so close to mine, so close,
that I could breathe her. The way she shivered when I told
her I love her. The way she whispered she loves me back.  
There was nothing I wouldn't do for her. Nothing but cause
her pain.
She was upset. Mad. Betrayed.
Seeing her like that made me cry.
So I had to say yes. I had to agree to whatever she wanted
me to do. I was blind.

I found out I didn't know her the way I thought I did. For a
long time I was sure that she and I were very different. I
was totally shocked by the fact that she enjoys the same
agony that I enjoyed.
I'm not sure if that discovery was for the best.

So I cut her. She liked every second. Fuck. That fact scared
me. Victoria. She's nothing but a masochist. She's nothing
but me.
After I became use to the sight of her gory wrists, thighs
and breasts, I started to enjoy it myself.
Her blood, red as crimson wine, dripped all over the cut's
region, sometimes it even left stains on my hands. It was
lovely. Her blood smelled like a sand lily, and I got
intoxicated whenever it was time to gash. I think we truly
found joy and fulfillment. You should have seen the look in
her eyes. So peaceful, so perfect, leisurely, spellbound, as
if she was a billion light years from me, but yet very
close.
When she was sad, I allowed her to gash me as well. Just
watching her move the blade over my hands, staring at it
with such zeal made me wait for my turn to be slashed. I did
it all for her.  

This went on for about a 6 months.
Then, apparently, it got her bored.  
All of a sudden she was cold, distant, nonchalant,
lackadaisical, and moody.
It was hard for me to see her like that, so apathetic, like
she was drained from life liquid, empty.
She cried a lot that time. Silky tears in shapes of tiny
glass splinters. She said that we were burnt out.
I couldn't believe her. I could not accept her words. They
are just words.

Then came the hardest era for the both of us. She was
frightened, and I was beginning to lose hope. It was like we
were bleeding from the inside, hurting, missing, but unable
to communicate and heal. It killed me.
When I was alone all I could think of was her cherubic face,
her gorgeous smile, her deep gaze, her perfect body...
without her, I was alone. I was nothing. With her, I was
something, everything and anything. Whatever she wanted me
to be. So I wasn't about to give up on her, the love of my
life.

What was it that she wanted? I thought about it day and
night, hours and hours, almost forever, but at the end I
figured it out.
I knew what she wanted. What she needed. What she lusted
for.

A human sacrifice.

I was willing to die for her. I knew that day would come. So
I didn't mind, for the sake of my beloved's tears, for only
she would stop feeling alone.
I was ready to be offered to Victoria's great gods. She was
my goddess; therefore I was prepared for the slaughter- for
her, for me, in a way.
She didn't know about my decision, it was for the best.
The day I chose for the ritual was a black day. I mean, a
really black day. Mephistopheles' day. Evil's day. It was
the 6th of June, the 6/6, Devil's birthday.
What a perfect day to worship the entity behind the
pentagram.
I took her to the forest, next to our school, it was night.
Stars above our heads, we walked quietly, hand
In hand, silence of death around us.
She didn't know the reason for our little trip. We reached
the place I picked for the ritual a day before.
I kissed her crimson lips. She was blank, but I loved her
empty kiss just as well. It was like kissing a black and
white rainbow.
She stared at me with her big child eyes.
I told her my decision.
At first, she didn't say a word. She was too surprised I
guess. Excited.
The look in her eyes. It was like fire and water unit, but
instead of creating a big wall of smoke, they were alive,
mixed, burning and flowing at the same time, together, in
one soul.
I could see she liked it.
Not a glimpse of mercy and pity for my life. It was pure
passion. Passion for blood.

This story ended in death.
The truth was finally loose. I was free from her dark
spells. Free to live the death. She brought me salvation.
She was my angel, my guardian.
At that night I didn't only lose my life, I lost my belief
as well. If there was before essence to love, I had proved
it wrong.  Forever was a nightmare. There was no such thing
as an eternity of happiness. Eternity was sorrow, it was
pain, it was deep agony. Beauty lives forever, beauty never
dies, and therefore it is a tale with no good ending. The
story of beauty goes on and on as in an endless dream. A
nightmare, to be exact.
As time passes the spell of love is not untied. The bond is
still a bond, only beauty fades. But when love is dead
beauty lasts forever, for it is remaining the same as it was
in death. Nevertheless, I am not beautiful, yet I'm dead.
The explanation for this is capturing. My world is my belle,
Victoria. So as I die I capture her dazing inner peace.
Inner peace is immortal.
My tragedy is a blessing, for as I die I keep this beauty
alive forever.

Then I go in peace, knowing my dear is kept in a glass cage,
for everyone to see but not touch. And is happy, as I
wished.
I know now that she is safe.
I'll embrace her charm as I pass from this world.

And I am complete, for I know my Victoria is now immortal,
and held in the dark basements of my private desperation.