The Summoning (Of Lord Night)

She enters the woods at dusk to call him by his name, but he does not arrive. Where is he and where is here? She wonders every evening a little lost. She wanders always a little farther, hoping he is there. But he is not.

In the wake of dreams, his obsidian eyes appear, her face reflecting within them like a mirror. They seem to be absorbing her as much as they are reflecting. Every night he appears to whisper his secrets to her, his voice soft like silk and laugh like tinkling bells.

His beauty is something entirely of another world: moonlight shines from within him, as if his very bones are set alight; and above all of this, appears a nebula rotating upon his lunar skin. A brilliant cloak shields away all of his midnight black hair in a starry guise. She finds herself dreaming of the king of night.

When he bestows her his name, it’s like the dewdrops of a fresh summer rain. She opens herself to his voice like a starving rose in an abandoned garden; every syllable uttered is replenishing her, reviving her deep through the stems and petals.

Every nightfall, before she sleeps, it is the same. She goes to the woods to call out his name. What more might she say? She whispers till she starts to sing. And every night she does not see her luminary king. Was he only in the woods within her dreams? Was he ever real?

In the morning she is awake and wonders: What might summon this king and prove that he is real? What was it, that made the human’s voice feel so contrary? A bell! A bell! She suddenly thought with a wave of delight. A bell! A bell! It would summon the great king of night!

At dusk, she brings the bell and rings it times seven. She did not know why seven. Or why the bell. It was all worth the effort, she reasoned. Some happenings existed beyond explanation. Do we ever ask why the seasons? They exist and that’s enough. So would be her love. So she hoped, so she prayed. Let it be enough.

So she brought the bell every dusk, remembering the tinkling of his voice—how it sounded like heaven, his laugh the chime of a bell. His enchanting voice, how it rung upon her very own heart; ringing there till she felt the need to clutch at her chest, wishing she clung plunge her hand in and remove the instrument. Why did it pleasure and torment her so?

One night passes to no avail. Two more. Then three. Soon the sixth arrives and retreats. On the seventh dusk, is when he finally appears. Her heart leaps into her throat at the very sight of him. In dreams, he was beautiful—but oh, nothing could prepare her for the true apparition. He stood before her, expanding great wings of galaxies; entire solar systems moved and burst within his appendages, planets and black holes adorning him like jewels.

Before she could conjure an answer, he swiftly took a hold of her hands: “Come away with me,” he speaks in a gentle lilt. “Come away with me and forget this world. I will offer you sweet pomegranates and the richest wines. Adorn you with pearls no mortal man can find. You will reside in my castle, it is so very fine. I promise to make all aspects of your life sublime. Come away with me, forget this awful place! You have summoned me is that not true? You have gifted me with your loyalty every morning and night. Who am I not to offer you my love, too?”