Salt in the Wound (Lyonesse)

by Sierra Simone

What is it about being watched that makes us want to impress the watcher?

Like he wanted to cut me open and taste the blood

that came out, and then make me taste it too.

Some people had men woo them with jewelry, with roses and orchids and champagne. I had a man who sent me knives and parasitic flowers. I was smiling the rest of the day.

“I am all want with you, Isolde. You think that I don’t think about you all the time? That I don’t want your scent all over my bed? You think that I don’t wish I had you under my desk with that serious little mouth available for my relief every morning? That I don’t want your snug cunt whenever I goddamn feel like it? Yes, I want you, and I want you collared, and I want you mine. That should be enough to terrify you, because I would hold nothing back until I’d eaten your very soul. I would hold nothing back until it was written on your skin and scratched into your bones how much I crave you.”

“My deadly girl, my little honeysuckle queen. Say hyssop to me, and I’ll stop the instant you say it. But I won’t break for wait, not for stop. Not even for no. Your safe word is all of those things, and more. It’s your freedom and your power too.”