I am just thinking, after reading comments from Erica and Genese, that we should never forget how much fun demon lovers can be before it all goes to hell.
There was one I actually called "The Wolf." He had very seductive eyes, danced with me, made potions out of plants, did perfectly outrageous things, had multiple lovers of both sexes,, could not be trusted at all, and had a whole arsenal of sophisticated damage control methods. We smeared each other with honey.
College. Someone groped me in the dark, and he appeared and whisked me away. We listened to Otis Redding and drank Fireball. He had auburn hair and dark eyes and mean hands and knew everything. 10+
Alas, Daemon lover only ever in imagination. There, less an explosion, more of an expansion; awarded a cataclysmic score that goes to eleven. Given others' comments here, plus the poetry, Jackson's and Bowen's haunting education (what we consent to when we say 'I do'), and the impassioned, ravishing, paintings the tale inspires, I suspect the adventure worth it. At the very least it earns a story to tell. And imagination might bend beyond suicide, its contemplation alone lets life flood in.
Re: the microfiction. I'm reminded of a paraphrase of a line from a lyric by Paul Simon: "A person sees what they want to see and disregards the rest." That often is a basic element of falling in love.
I seem to have quite a few short stories on this topic . .due to, perhaps, too much personal experience or too active an imagination? . . I'll never tell . . .If I may be so self indulgent .. . here's one:
I am just thinking, after reading comments from Erica and Genese, that we should never forget how much fun demon lovers can be before it all goes to hell.
There was one I actually called "The Wolf." He had very seductive eyes, danced with me, made potions out of plants, did perfectly outrageous things, had multiple lovers of both sexes,, could not be trusted at all, and had a whole arsenal of sophisticated damage control methods. We smeared each other with honey.
College. Someone groped me in the dark, and he appeared and whisked me away. We listened to Otis Redding and drank Fireball. He had auburn hair and dark eyes and mean hands and knew everything. 10+
Alas, Daemon lover only ever in imagination. There, less an explosion, more of an expansion; awarded a cataclysmic score that goes to eleven. Given others' comments here, plus the poetry, Jackson's and Bowen's haunting education (what we consent to when we say 'I do'), and the impassioned, ravishing, paintings the tale inspires, I suspect the adventure worth it. At the very least it earns a story to tell. And imagination might bend beyond suicide, its contemplation alone lets life flood in.
Re: the microfiction. I'm reminded of a paraphrase of a line from a lyric by Paul Simon: "A person sees what they want to see and disregards the rest." That often is a basic element of falling in love.
Regarding Maximilian Pirner's painting. According to his Wikipedia entry, the painting is titled "Daemon Love" (without the ending 'r'). Unfortunately, the Wikipedia entry doesn't include a picture of the painting. So I used the internet to get a translation of 'Daemon Love' into Czech (,démonská láska) and used that to do a search. I found this, for what it's worth: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Jaroslav_Vrchlick%C3%BD,_Maxmili%C3%A1n_Pirner_-_D%C3%A9mon_l%C3%A1ska_-_1893_-_Image_III.png
I seem to have quite a few short stories on this topic . .due to, perhaps, too much personal experience or too active an imagination? . . I'll never tell . . .If I may be so self indulgent .. . here's one:
https://www.storymagazine.org/frank-n-stein/