In this season of fairytale and legend he paints himself as almost a hero.
He imagines himself snatching the poisoned apple from the rose-red lips of the raven haired princess with the snow-white skin and replacing it with an urgent kiss from his own hungry mouth.
He dreams of braving the vicious thorns of imprisoning briar to lift the unmoving but gorgeous living body of the sleeping beauty from out of her silent coffin. To carry her to some safe and secret place and wake her with the heat of his breath upon her barely-pulsing, newly-naked throat.
He sees himself placing the glass shoe on the delicate foot of the young. innocent, badly treated servant girl and claiming her wide-eyed perfection, pulchritude, purity and submission for always.
Yet the girl he really wants – the angel in the red hooded cloak – knows him as the dangerous creature of which her mother has warned. He is the restless stranger with poetry in his notebook, desire in his heart, and a world of darkness in his soul.
It is true that his teeth and claws can be sharp and he has such a decadent yet eloquent hunger.
But now, in these fading days and threadbare nights, even the wolf yearns only to be loved.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Photograph by silvestru
A long-standing, good, blog-friend of mine suggested that the retelling of my ‘…only the wolf’ tale might be an apt idea at this time of fantasy and fable, wonder and witches. So I am repeating it again, but with me also narrating the story in audio …