The Devourers

by Indra Das

Leave, if you think the only way to achieve intimacy is dry custom, the exchange of facts and labels, names and professions. Intimacy lies in the body and the soul, in scent, in touch and taste and sound. A man whose name you don’t know can tell you a tale to move you to tears, just by filling and emptying his lungs, by moving his tongue and lips, his fingers. Even after, you might never know him.”

Names are still important

This sad devil Fenrir might have made me a mother, and if there is one thing a woman cannot be in this empire all by herself, it is that.

Reminiscent of Mary and Jesus?

“What I committed was not your ugly khrissal crime of rape, it was a gift.

Reminiscent of Greek mythology with Zeus

You lost your claim as a father when you forced yourself on me. This child deserved the love of a kind and gentle man, a true father. It deserved a mother that wanted it. You woke it before its time and gave it the life of a bastard-child, in a world that you yourself have observed is full of bastard-begetting men, who brand their own children outcasts after fathering them with women they spit on and call whore after raping them.”

I will not be your human idol, your little goddess of suffering. I am not all human women, Fen-eer, and you’d do well to remember that while you devour and rape and preach and lament that humans will never love you. You—you are what all women fear in this world.