Hail to you, O my Relentless One, my Muse, my most secret heart, who claimed me as a bride. I took you to me in equal parts love and terror of what I’d wrought in calling out to you, unable to say anything but yes and yes and yes. And how you left your mark, even as screamed and struggled to understand. And so you pulled me to you tight, to still my trembling heart, and then devoured it for your own, but not without giving me your own in kind.
You have always been a lavish bridegroom.
For my own gift to you, I wished to give you vows of love, given clear, calm, clarion, and without a look backwards, for I know now that you are my True Will. But that is not our Wyrd now, is it? And never was.
You who bade me be your priestess, to bless a young warrior about to leave for battle. I took his hand in mine and gave him Your words, and there was a smile.
“I understand,” he said.
And then there was a tickle, a twitch, a tingle, and soon the eyes that looked back at me, the slow, knowing smile – his lips are not marked as yours, but their curve is unmistakable, no matter whose face You wear.
And so you slipped into his flesh, to claim that which is rightfully Yours, and freely given – this flesh and bone and blood and Wyrd, and pierced me through, till You gained Your desired prayer:
That I give myself to You, and only You;
That I foreswear the company of other Gods, men and women, for you and only you.
Though I may love others, in other ways, my heart’s passion is yours alone.
Hail to You, my Relentless One, my thief, my warrior, my conqueror and my conquest. Our vows were not meant to be spoken but screamed, long and loud, let all the Holy Powers and ancestors know that I am Yours, Your willing bride, Your whore, Your priestess, Your altar, and Your vessel.