"Oh my, your internal organs are pulverised."
Levant lay there dying. The pain was already fading, now he just felt cold. He was still processing what had just happened and was beginning to realise that his end was swiftly approaching. The one who had spoken entered his blurring vision. Were he still capable of doing so he would have laughed, it was the woman he had met earlier that day, only she was stark naked. Even in his current state he felt a strong sense of arousal for her. He recognised the hallucination for what it is and appreciated being able to see such a beautiful vision before he departed this world.
Still, he was afraid, scared. He did not want to die, no one does, not truly. He tried to beg the vision for help, but he managed only a faint gurgle, blood trickled down his chin.
She seemed to understand him, of course she does, she is from his perishing mind afterall. "Save you? Why would I want to do that?" She thrust a hip out and cocked her head to one side, as though considering, "Even if I did save your mundane life, what then? Back to your mundane desk job tomorrow? Then back to your mundane little apartment? Sleep with your mundane dreams? Only to awaken and begin the cycle anew? You are alive, but you are not living. You never were."
Oh cruel vision, how well you know me! Levant thought. All his life he yearned for something more, to become something greater, or to at least experience something greater. But he had long since given up, accepted that it was how everyone felt but that it was only for the privileged few to know such a life. Now here, at the end of all things, his mind had conjured this beauty to rebuke him for a life poorly used.
She giggled, "Yes, I am a vision. I am an erotic nightmare made manifest my dear, sin given form." She inhaled as though incense filled the air, "Oh I scented your suppressed desires, and how they intrigue me. Yes, yes, you fascinate me! You are mundane, yet you hold such potential to become something utterly exhilarating!" She smiled, "Or held rather."
Levant's vision was growing dark, the world was beginning to seem far away. He dimly made out her words, "No, I cannot save you. But I can grant you another life entirely. I shall be frank, not everyone survives my world, they would have been better off dead, they usually wish that were the case. But you have it in you to become one of us, I know it. What say you? Be mine, and I shall grant you a new manner of existence. What say you?"
Levant struggled to think properly, his thoughts fizzing away with his consciousness. He barely had the strength to understand her words. "What say you?"
His vision had left him completely now, oblivion was racing up to consume him. She spoke again, but Levant fancied there was a note of desperation in her voice. "What say you?"
******
Earlier that day...
Levant could hardly believe his luck.
He rarely bothered to go out, the world seemed designed to pick on lone wolves. Having few friends he had little excuse to venture beyond his apartment unless it is to run everyday errands. Often he would walk into the city and some homeless man reeking of alcohol would accost him, or a youth looking to impress his friends humiliate him, or even passersby giving him strange looks. It was not that he stood out particularly, he just seemed to draw such cretins, as if they smelled weakness and needed to satiate that primal urge to strike. As such Levant was a bit of an anthrophobe.
But every so often loneliness and depression would drive him out, seeking the company of others even if it is only as a silent bystander. He had to take deep breaths as he walked down the street, praying no one would speak to him even as he yearned to know how to socialise. He was terrified someone might yell at him, insult him, assault him. Once he made it to the café and got into the cosy building he exhaled, feeling a little better for the shelter of its walls. The scent of coffee filled his lungs, he found it soothing on his nerves.
He looked about, tactically selecting which table to sit at where he would be less noticeable. He had chosen the time well, at this hour there were few people. Just a couple at the far side, whispering romantic nonsense to eachother no doubt. An elderly man was reading a paper as he sipped his tea. A mother and daughter were speaking to the barista, the daughter trying to convince her mother she will not be awake all night if she has milkshake. Another woman was sat...
Levant gave a shuddering breath as he took that woman in. She was sat by the window, the light silhouetting her perfect frame beautifully. She was dressed all in black, with black embroidery depicting what he believed were ravens. Her skin was alabaster and statuesque. Her hair loose, a waterfall of fire. Entranced, his fear and anxieties forgotten, he found himself sitting opposite her. She looked up from her book to regard him with her malachite eyes, and eyebrow arched in question.
Oh god, what am I doing? Levant thought, remembering himself. All manner of escape methods flitted through his mind, such as saying sorry he thought she was someone he knew, or that he did not see her there, before fleeing for the nearest empty table.
Her scent filled him, a strange, heady aroma that set his pulse racing. His anxiety faded, he noted the title of the book she was reading as a heading on one of the pages. "Er, oh." He sputtered, aware how whiny his voice must sound, "Clavicula Salomonis. Is that the Lemegeton? I've read that too." He did not say aloud that it is not the kind of text one generally reads in public.
"Oh?" she said, how anyone's voice could sound so wondrous from a simple syllable was beyond Levant, but she managed it, "A fellow scholar of the paths less trodden? Practitioner or armchair magician?"
Levant would have given anything to be able to say he was a practitioner, just to impress her. He knew enough to know that armchair magician was often a term used with scorn by those who considered themselves true explorers of the otherworldly. But whilst the occult fascinated him he never went beyond reading the various literature on the area. He could barely muster the will to step from his home, let alone join some freaky coven. "Ar, armchair admittedly. But I would like to try it one day perhaps." Really? He thought to himself. I'm really going to let this woman invite me to one of her sessions?
She gave a long melodious laugh, "My rituals are rather different to the ones found in the works." A waiter interrupted, he gave the woman a petite mug filled with white fluid of some sort. Levant noticed the man had a glazed expression as he looked at her. That expression turned to one of angry jealousy as he took Levant's order. It did little to help his fragile confidence.
"What about the oh so infamous Crowley?" she continued once the waiter left, "What say you of his works?"
"Well," Levant began, thinking back when he drudged thought those texts, "Everyone says his works are confusing because it is genius. Seems to me though he was confused himself and did not fully know what he was writing."
