Even as Heaven has its dogs of war, it too has its whores.

My words may strike as profane, but the Law and Love of His Hand is, most affectionately profane. And we, both His dogs and His whores know our place.

I know He made you in His image, and esteemed you higher than any one of us. I was not jealous, I was one of the first to bow down to you because He loved you so. My only true iniquity was loving one of you- too much, crossing a vaguely placed line that was unspoken forbidden to approach. Like the others who were found guilty, I was rebuked and stripped of my place, called thereafter a Whore of Heaven.

Whom He loves, He chastises...

One could say we were demoted, one could say that in another way we were promoted. But truly, one must descend from one plane to ascend to another. Like His dogs, we were collared and shackled. Forced on our knees in continuous prostrate and worship while He smote us, judging our wings with virulent passion. He meant to punish us for the very act He commanded of us. For loving you, His Chosen.

In the lesson we learned of anguish and pain, we discovered the Secret School of Love's Discipline...
the affection in agony and the pleasure in pain.

~Sorla Star the Reprobate

He knows..

at times when the soft barbs of my feathers are slowly ran betwixt my fingers my thoughts turn and the sensation of a lonely Grey Angel refreshes itself against me. The first time I knew him, I was bade to. But the next, the last time I approached was on my own and my reasons were many.

Many, affectionately, self-righteous reasons.

I carried my broken wings like other creatures carry broken hearts. Bleeding and crudely wrapped in soaked bandages that merely held pieces together. I carried them to him, back heavy-laden with all my bruised pride. Then I bowed my head to him with all my silent submission. My eyes read to him, translating the quiver beneath my skin that was pleading in pain please heal me.

I was too weak.

And he could mend them well.

I felt a measure of guilt for seeking his attention only to deny his affections. It was my intention, truly. But his eyes read to me, translating a confession he made to me only once. He did not need to bend my nature to his will, for it was natural to fold our wings into each other. I cannot take comfort without returning it.

This does not make me weak, it makes us Angels.

And my God knows...

I still hold to what I've sworn Him.


~Sorvynia Exile

You sat at the piano deftly fingering the keys. From over your shoulder I watched a few moments, feeling each stroke as if the ivory were my own pale skin. So slow and gentle, like the way we make love...sometimes. I smiled down at you, just listening then as the music filled my hearing, pleasantly distracting me from my sensual train of thought.

And I considered how artistic you were in so many things and how you have them down to a...perverse science. Inwardly I laugh at myself, so blinded by beauty that I fail to allow the flaws to distort what I see. Where one might miss the forest for the trees, I am missing the monster until I am torn apart by it. I've laid trembling in agony by your hand and yet when after I've awakened from it I love and desire you no less.

I kept this... I ran a black silk sash down your shoulder.

"I know..." You murmured softly as I blinded you with it and I bade you,

Don't stop playing...yet...its lovely. I kissed you, you played on...that lovely melody.

You tore out my eyes so long ago, replacing them with Your own. I've seen You for what You truly are, now You're all I see.

My God, don't stop playing....me.

~Sorvynia Exile

For Parable

Tonight I felt inspired my little one, if only by the very name your Father and I perfectly chose for you. Your Father is The Teacher, but I would write to you such things even as you are still but an infant at my breast, so that one day you too may read of my Books and find pieces of yourself in them. It is my hope that I will make less mistakes with you.

A toy was sat cast aside, forgotten and ignored of its once grand novelty.

A mother said to her child, "Don't you love your toy? Why don't you play with it?"
And the child said, after a few moments, pausing in his play with another favored toy. "I do love it, but I love to play with this one now."
The child's mother then asked, "If you do not wish to play with your other toy, why don't you let go of it so that another may love to play with it again?"
And the child, with all of man's innate jealousy and possessiveness answered, "because it is mine."

And for no other reason.

~Your Momma, Sorvynia

"Mother? Do you love Teacher's daughters more than me?" My woman-child daughter asked me, though her tone was void of anything hinting to jealousy as she spoke of Prophecy and Parable.

And I did answer her thus...

"My Wen, I love all my children fiercely and in equal measure. It is only that my relationship with each of my children is different than the other. Unique unto itself. That is the only difference."

Then, Maiwen boldly confessed her feelings and seemed to resolve herself in a naked moment of self realization.

"Parable...will be a better daughter than me I think. I am afraid of her though. I saw her in The Teacher's eyes. I saw every lesson that He spent in me, in His terrible and piercing Stars. Numberless like the count of the heavens. I could not deny Him. And I know now why you cannot."

I stared at my daughter in a moment of rapt silence, inwardly shaking at the truthful words spoken of Him. Shaking perhaps for the worship heard falling from Maiwen's mouth. I wonder if she saw this hidden awe in me. The truth of my soul in my eyes so betrays me but I answered her, teaching her the gratitude of pain that a child imparts upon its mother and somewhat more.

"My Wen, it is not right to say, one child is better than the other. All children give pain to their mother, from the moment of birth. All children bring tears. Every child Teaches. Such are the youngest of the Exiles, protected alone by the Grace of their innocence. The very wards that Prophet is charge to. But I digress. All children teach their mothers and force them to see where they have failed. In turn, though I reckon it cruel, a Mother rears each younger child by the lessons learned from the elder last. You too will learn this as you bear your fruit."


"Mother, I remember nursing from you. The warmth I felt, the safety. I knew no fear. Your heartbeat was my lullaby when you were not singing. Your milk was sweet and it filled me. Then you took your breast from us and it was the first time you hurt my feelings. The next time was when I saw Sovereign dead in your arms. I hated you because you did not bring him back. And then you sent me away. I felt like you always took everything from me. And then when I betrayed you, I could feel or see nothing but the want of all that you have that I did not. And for it I've some remorse. Maybe I should have more if your conscience is a paradigm I should follow."

It was enough that she sought my forgiveness the night I had her Baptized. I once thought perhaps my Verial was the most tormented of all my born offspring. But Maiwen, once the only daughter had I, is so ruined.




~Sorvynia Exile

Dragon's Pearls

My Dragon...He sleeps.
His breath is steady and cold.
His eyes heavy shut, robbing darkness of the lesser light of His twain stars.
His wings stretch out- one resting upon me, the other a blanket o'er His naked form.
My searching hand slips beneath, blindly touching Him- though my fingers know the intimate legend of His body by the compass of my palm.
His dark hair is strewn around Him and I pick at strands, arranging them as if to frame the sense of peace I see behind the planes of His face.
It is an expression I can only see within Him when He has been well loved, and has...well fed.
He glistens, even in the umbra of Himself. He glistens where the makings of our love and lust for each other ran wild from the banks of our bodies.
Tiny, soft pearls roll between the sheets, that were once potent drops of His spilled seed.
I gather them, fashioning them into a collar as I string them together with strands of my own hair.
What few that remain I take into my mouth to savor, rolling them with my thankful tongue before swallowing them.
They are consumed like some communion robbed of ceremonial diction.
I lean in gently, grazing my nails across the dark line of His brow as I kiss my new pearl necklace with His Name and a silent litany upon my reverent lips.
My breath is steady and warm.
My Love...We sleep.

~Sorvynia Exile

Dedicated with love, to all the Dreamers who came before, who are, and are yet to be. I write for and to you all, that you might love with fierce abandon, and in your love may you be truly alive with every moment of its beautiful suffering and pleasure, if only in your dreams. And if it be only in your dreams, let them be set on fire so that they may blind your waking eyes, so that you may truly see. ~Sorvynia Exile


After Midnight

In memory of Verial and Necia

When you lay asleep dreaming, I sit awake just the same.
Your words roam my mind, while yours treads that delicate veil.
Hours of solitude slowly sift me through the night while time is cold and unknown to your still form.
Meaningful verses of countless songs hum through my head and in the quiet of contemplation I sing them.
Lullabies unrequited and unsatisfied, as if you could hear. But they do not reach your ears.
Oh, a dream of my own that they could cross the stars that burn over your bed, into your head.
And I wonder, so many things that go unvoiced, that live hidden or imagined,
but all stayed between the lines that I so often am possessed to skew and bend.
In all the rambling that none ever hears,
in all the wasted ink on pages that I will tear out and eyes will never read,
your Words remain an unceasing whisper and a mark too deep in me.