I look down at my carcass, seasoned with blood and spices, and I know what became of me, to become. For the devil wears a double-mask, once an angel and now a prisoner, forcèd to live in the hallowed depths of a world that never wants him. Worshipped by the loones, but never by the true and few who see that he behind his double-mask, into his crypt.

For the devil is a shy one, and a sly one, that's for sure. And every measure has been taken by the two to imprison him, masculine by his nature and by his physical presence, within the catacombs of loneliness, and within the depths of me.

I fell in love with him the first time I saw him, lying there in the dawn of dusks, surrounded by the blind, mattering and twittering amongst themselves. I knew right then who he was and how he called me, I knew at once how my name and heart denounced me. But no matter how I tried, she continued to latch unto me like a pricker in the double-rain.

Dead awoken, I arise from the prison in which I am kept day, after day, after day. I challenge myself, put myself through the test of breaking my eyes free of the gripping closeness they so desire every breeze that whips them. I open them because she's there, and I know she'd never forgive me if I closed them forever.

The blind and the bleeding never know what they are missing until they are gone into the realm where all folks roam. Into the fear and into the antagonist, we follow every night when we go to sleep.

And still, my heart knows it lacks something. And my life, and my soul, knows she's missing. The final piece of the puzzle to let me see my own eyes closed.

This reflection in the pond...it only steals the real me.

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My teardrops fall in a puddle like the last rain.

.....

If only I had a way to let her know I love her...

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Taint looks down into the puddle. Her pelt is ragged and dusty, seeming out of place in this endless, immortal forest of her birth. Her eyes, eternally squinted, with colors hidden from public and private view...seem to dodge being reflected in the calmwater. The calmwater ripples as little beads of sadness fall into it. It was formed from them. It will die from them.

She beats the soil into the puddle with her right hoof. The water is sealed up within the soil. The only evidence remaining is the dark brown of the dirt, and a lost droplet clinging to the ridge of her nose...

((the yellow words are her thoughts, she isn't saying them out loud...so your deer doesn't know what she's thinking))