On dirait un serpent qui danse
Au bout d’un bâton
The rain fell down at dawn, anouncing the end of one more job.
That was the fifty head that week, but the Kali Yuga still was very far from its end.
Although the light of that night was masculine, it has no energy enough for a consistent Elixir Rubeus, and the wedding could not be done yet.
She was tired, but still hungry. All that male blood spilled into her chalice was not enough to stop her anger, but she decided to come back home even so, holding the head with her. He looked handsome, with his muddy brown eyes and thin lips like smooth nankeen traces; they seemed to smile at the time of slaughter, and this made her act less joyful,because the victim accepted his destiny without resistance. Too bad. Surrender. Looked like he was already dead. But the next day she could try once more. Too bad. One more human light turned off, but this one was wasted only to feed her blade. Worthless. No energy profit. At least the head looked nice to put into the formol glass and decore the room table where she seated down that night to register the experiences.
Outside there, the rain kept on falling, but not with the same strength and water bulk. There was bit water, seemed like a frustrated cry of the nature, denying to provide the usual exuberance of a stormy night.
And she seated down and started to register on the grimoire, writting red letters, full of solar seeds of life.