This world, including myself, has always seemed so cold to the touch. The only Warmth I ever knew was The Scarlet and Bronze Priestess. A fiery, distant Beacon flares down the ice-laden halls of ancient memory - the fond sepia-stained remembrance of the time I spent enveloped in her warmth; the void's ceaseless longing stilled for isolated heartbeats in a melting, synchronous rhythm.
My Dearest, only Isis: cast Thine Image in infinite refraction upon the looking pool. Make dull my sight so that I struggle to bring into focus Your Holy Image. Temper this scathed mantle I wear with the throws of your cruel indifference.
Shroud of a soft, sapphire-violet flame. I pray Your warmth consume me as I wander aimlessly in this endless tundra of time without Thine Grace.
All satellites down. All constellation dimmer now. I may only approach such Splendor as Her Mysteries through the path of Yod, The Hermits...Alone...and cold again.
My inner circuit snaps, my coil unfurls - I escape time & We float together freely. It is always but a fleeting dream though...brief yet tinged with the sweetest flavor of escape from this long, wintry night I endure.
...But in those moments - To see and know, even if it be illusory, there is a universe burning so brightly behind this mirror of mine...I know, She speaks in all hues and the Sound of her omnipotent glossolalia breaks this poor mortal heart.
Someday, outside of time, We shall bathe in Her Starry Light's countless Rays, immersed wholly together in the streams of conscious, liquid LVX.