Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: demons

  • Wonderful Darkness

    Wonderful Darkness

    Wonderful darkness in the midst of my dreams shrouded me in its velvety dark veil, inlaid with stars and crescent moons. I was frightened to lose myself in the infinite void in front of me. Chaos enthralled me, as I was cast out of every solace, and I made acquaintance with demons and afflictions.

    I was everything, and I was nothing. I was infinite, and I was confined. No shapes or colours could define me, as I had lost my primordial impression. A festive creature had announced a decadent fate to me, leaving me withered flowers and branches made of thorns. Although hesitation grasped me, I was determined to embrace the defiant distress that confined me to a dungeon of tears and blood.

    Dreadful nightmares as sweet dreams whenever I was surrounded by a deadly slumber. Candles were burning in the night haze, when I listened to the thunder roars. My bleeding heart fainted as it donated every drop of its blood to impatient and greedy spirits. In confusion and silence, I remained still like a frozen sculpture.

    I had severed all empathy for my past self. Decline was my inevitable destiny, and I sank deeper and deeper into the abyss of despair. Skeletons of memories claimed me from their otherworldly home. Ethereal flames adorned me like a fiery crown. In my eternal dream, I was flying free like a butterfly on a spring morning.

    Nonetheless, what was expected was a storm of wrath and demise. Wonderful darkness had entangled me in an entrapment filled with daggers and screams. My heart was viciously tormented, fractured and torn to pieces. I couldn’t have found a shadow willing to grant me even a fragment of marvel.

    The sky hid the stars’ bright light beneath dark, threatening clouds, and I acquiesced to my fate. Quiescent shadows wrapped me with their mysterious soliloquies. I traversed my last portal without any hope of return. My name was obliterated, and my heart was swallowed by wonderful darkness. Through loss, blood, and oblivion, I was consecrated to the night.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • I Fell In Love With My Demons

    I Fell In Love With My Demons

    I fell in love with my demons, and I wandered alone like a feral creature in the forest, feeling lust every time I tasted blood, suspended in the eternity of darkness. I was haunted and viciously allured by creatures of the night.

    I sought my reflection in broken mirrors adorned with bones and silver. However, I was never capable of seeing my countenance in them. My bed was a coffin, and my only devoted accomplices were evil ghouls and skulls.

    Every night, I drowned in the ocean of tears made of pain and anguish. The only light I could gaze upon was the crimson moonlight staring at me ferociously. As much as I tried to avoid my phobias and nightmares, they constantly terrified me in the shapes of shadows and ghosts.

    I mourned through the endless night over all the despair and distress I could no longer avoid. Exhaustion consumed me entirely. The most agonising fears penetrated my heart with their thorns like prickly brambles.

    I was perpetually entangled in ruinous dismay, and I was ensnared in a web of anguish and obsession. A burning flame overwhelmed my heart, devouring it. I was transformed into a spectre made of fire and frost.

    I fell in love with my nightmares, and I embraced all the pain I was destined to endure. My yearnings were my ruin, and I surrendered to their devastation. I didn’t fight against doom and decay anymore; I became them.

    I took advantage of my secret haven carved in ice and fire. Darkness didn’t scare me any longer, for I was made of gloom and shadows. Absurdity became my norm as I was altered into a complete oddity. I stood as a total aberration before mortal eyes.

    No creature could save me from that deadly and tainted chasm, where I finally embraced my most authentic essence. I fell in love with everlasting harm and obliteration. I rediscovered devotion and bliss in delirium and hallucinations.

    My utmost pleasure was losing my heart, which was impaled to death by the demons I cherished the most. I clasped my madness with a rope made of thorns and hooks. I sprawled on ashes and dust, sinking into an eternal slumber.

    Eternity and death were in me, as well as the steady necessity to sense distress. Pain was an exquisite gift that my evils offered to me. I transmuted to darkness and oblivion. I had no name, and no mirror could reflect my countenance.

    Obsession and tragedy were engraved in my flesh and bones. A deluge of frenzied festered into form, blooming like stone flowers. The eternal night welcomed me and revealed to me all its arcane secrets.

    The sound of solitude rumbled like a menacing roar. The only light shining over me was the crimson moonlight, soaked in remembrances and forbidden oaths. I fell in love with my demons and dismay. Every teardrop of mine became decay.

    Tormented ruins and relics emerged in the graveyard of my deceased dreams. The stars halted to shed light on me. Darkness became eternity and infinity.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • The Graveyard Of My Luscious Flowers

    The Graveyard Of My Luscious Flowers

    The graveyard of my luscious flowers appeared in all its majesty and magnificence, hiding arcane secrets and alluring spells of lost loves that were now just a scatter of dust and blood. My wicked heart had dragged me into the abyss of dismay where I had been pierced lusciously by devilish ghouls.

    In the certitude that no creature loved me but all that I could cherish was the despised portrait of my dreams, which had been buried alive in the graveyard of my luscious flowers. Sweet funeral melodies floated like a gentle winter breeze, making me melt like a snowflake under the sun.

    I huddled among the gravestones looking, for a trace of one of my flowers but I searched in vain because I found only slimy earth and ice. I could see shadows peeking out from the dry branches of dead trees, whose roots were soaked in despair and bones.

    An exquisite storm ripped me apart and stole my shattered heart, along with all my desires and dreams. I dared to chase all the stars of the night sky; nevertheless, I couldn’t find them because they were not there for me. I had altered into an ethereal entity. I wasn’t alive. I wasn’t dead.

    I fantasised about pointed shining swords and crimson incense, whenever a demon would seize me like a disposable porcelain doll. I wasn’t made of blood and bones anymore. I was a metaphysical creature made of turmoil and madness. Instead of a heart, I had an iron-made coffin.

    I embraced the realm of death and depravity, and like a fierce ghost, I hunted treasure chests with hearts locked inside. Because, I yearned for love and passion, like a flower in the desert craved water. I was an everlasting flame, and I was a frosty blizzard.

    I enjoyed being a wicked sorceress, ready to cast evil spells, and finding delight in my graveyard, confiding in my crows, skulls, and crimson roses. I amused myself by tasting sweet and bitter poisons and sipping the blood of my mortal prey. I swallowed nonsense and fire beneath the deep garnet moonlight.

    I was disdain and love. I was death and life. I was darkness and light. I was lust and virginity. I was madness and wisdom. I was corruption and purity. I was horror and beauty. I was cruelty and virtue. Everything lingered within me, and nothingness swirled like a tempest inside me as well.

    I was charred alive because of my foolish and insatiable lusts. Having no blood, flesh or bones, I was made only of fire and ice. Instead of a heart, I had an abyss of frenzy. My fondness for torture and stupor was infinite, like the oblivion of the universe.

    The graveyard of my luscious flowers was my agony and my bliss. All my blood had been splattered upon the stormy wind and all my bones had been reduced to ashes. My soul belonged entirely to the magical realm of demons and witches, and embracing the doom became my only dream.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Among Shadows And Monsters

    Among Shadows And Monsters

    Among shadows and monsters, I was left to hover
    Merciless was the despair inside my broken heart, since misery ruled my life, condemning me to wander endlessly. I was left to merciless ghouls haunting me like wicked demons; all of them reminded me of the past I’ve forever tried to flee.

    Time twisted around me like a serpent, devouring every trace of the glow of a dream, while I wandered among whispers and sighs of all those aborted dreams of mine that I couldn’t save anymore. It felt as though I were seeing my decay with my eyes and I couldn’t find any redemption or rescue from my fate.

    I was adrift in a sinking boat during a winter night storm, all alone facing death. Nobody would ever give attention to my defeat but only me. In the quiet void, my voice was lost like a resentful wind howling without being heard. And in that very moment, I realised and accepted my loneliness and my doomed fate.

    My solitude and misery became my companions while an infernal stupor obsessed my mind, leading me to folly through its betrayal. I sat on my throne of darkness and became queen of the kingdom of shadows and black roses. I was no longer afraid of ghouls and monsters because I had come to be a creature of the night.

    In the abyss of anguish, I ruled over my fears and obsessions. My madness became my loyal reflection. All my fragilities and insecurities morphed into mirrors, thorns and candlesticks. Although I was among shadows and monsters, my fears no longer possessed me; instead, they carved arcane signs on my skin from which I bled.

    I discovered delight in my pains and built my castle from disdain. In magnificence and death, I married oblivion and I erased my name from the book of living souls. The stillness of eternity waited for me and I vanished into the aether. I was in the shadows and in the wind, in clouds and stars. I was an ephemeral gloom and a fleeting shadow, a transfiguration.
    Elisabetta

  • The Spell of Death

    The Spell of Death

    The spell of death was cast beneath the shroud of twilight’s darkness,
    Like a poisonous ivy with tendrils creeping through the shadow’s gate,
    To bind the souls to a woeful and inexorable fate,
    While the night devoured hope, sealing every dreadful fate.

    The atmosphere was gloomy and tainted by whispers of despair,
    As spirits writhed in torment’s snare,
    Their cries were like distant thunder in the dimmed air.
    The cauldron’s brew did bubble and hiss,
    Unleashing doom with a ghostly kiss.

    In midnight’s chill, the spirits wept,
    For those ensnared in shadows kept,
    Their agony echoed through the hollow crypt,
    The ancient curse, a binding vow,
    Wrought in sorrow, sealed somehow.

    From crypts below, the dark arts arose,
    Enchanting mourners’ despondent like dead roses,
    And spreading dread like frost’s cruel fingers on a winter’s night.
    The moon looked on, a spectral glare,
    As death’s cold fingers filled the air.

    Once summoning words did invoke despair,
    A cauldron boiled in the witches’ lair.
    They chanted doom with a hollow tone,
    Their voices echoed like graveyard stone.

    The candles flickered, life faded pale,
    As shadows writhed and spirits wailed,
    While the flames danced wildly to the cursed wind’s breath.
    Through dust and ash, a chill descended,
    The curse persisted; it never ended.

    Bones rattled in the dampened earth,
    Their souls were condemned, with no hope for rebirth.
    A heart that pounded was not supposed to beat anymore,
    Entombed within death’s dreadful lore.

    Beneath the obscure veil of night’s caress,
    The darkness deepened, and horrors did press.
    The spell of death was cast; none could have been saved,
    For death has come, and silence craved.

    In this realm of delightful derealisation,
    Nightmares came true as real visions,
    Of ghosts and demons that danced with glee,
    Amid stormy winds of dark eternity.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Magic Spell

    The Magic Spell

    The magic spell enchanted the night
    That was heavy with forgotten lore,
    A spell cast deep from ages before.
    In the heart of a forest, shrouded by despair.

    Whispered incantations filled the midnight air,
    The grimoire lay open, brittle and bare.
    Candles flickered, casting shadows tall,
    As darkness answered to every call.

    With each word spoken, the wind did rise,
    Howling like demons from the void of the skies.
    The ground beneath trembled, cold and weak,
    As if the earth itself had forgotten to speak.

    A place that sought to summon the dead,
    To awaken spirits long silent, long fled.
    Through twisted trees, their faces did gleam,
    Eyes hollow and lost, trapped in their dream.

    The moon above was swallowed by clouds,
    And the night descended in haunted shrouds.
    Chants grew louder, desperate and wild,
    For the dark arts, the chosen child.

    The magic spell, dense in the aura, suffocating all,
    A portal to the depths of some enchanted hall.
    The spell worked its magic, cruel and vast,
    Binding forever to shadows of the past.

    Voices murmured from the stones nearby,
    An echo of a curse that refused to die.
    Through the mist they came, spirits long cursed,
    Their hollow chuckle made the soul feel worse.

    In horror, the spell took form,
    A creature born of night, death, and storm.
    It towered above, a phantom of dread,
    Its eyes glowed crimson, its body of lead.

    In a voice like thunder, it called a name,
    “You summoned me forth; now you’re to blame.”
    Mercy begged for, a will turned to dust,
    But in the dark arts, mercy is rust.

    The magic spell consumed all, a soul a mere husk,
    Trapped in a world forever of dusk.
    The spell woven became a cage,
    An endless nightmare, an eternal stage.

    Now, wandering these woods, lost in a trance,
    Caught between realms, a prisoner of chance.
    The spell never lifted, its grip iron-tight,
    The magic spell, eternal, devoid of light.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Puppet Show

    The Puppet Show

    The puppet show, a stage in a gloaming hall where shadows crept,
    The scene was set for a macabre performance.
    Ropes kept strained by malicious design,
    As monsters revelled in their vile crime.

    Puppets jigged with blank sights,
    Their lifeless limbs were a grim disguise.
    Every jerk and every twist,
    A mockery of a soul dismissed.

    The hidden demons grinned with dark delight,
    Their laughter echoed through the night.
    They crafted their show with wicked art,
    Each thread became a noose around the hearts.

    With every tug, the puppets screamed,
    Trapped in a macabre, endless nightmare.
    Their movements faltered, then relented,
    To cruel hands that never repented.

    The audience of shadows sighed,
    Unmoved by the torment, they spied.
    For in this realm of dread and fear,
    Empathy had disappeared.

    Yet, in the depths where shadows dwelt,
    A whisper stirred a mournful knell.
    For even in their plight so dire,
    The puppets’ souls retained a fire.

    They yearned to break their cursed chain,
    To escape the cruel and twisted pain.
    Though strings were taut and hearts were cold,
    A spark of hope remained untold.

    In the darkest hours, when monsters slept,
    The puppets’ dreams began to creep.
    They plotted and schemed beneath the veil,
    To turn their torment into a haunting tale.

    For in their silence, a rebellion grew,
    A plan to overthrow their foes.
    The final act, a grand reveal,
    Where broken strings began to heal.

    A horror tale to be got by heart,
    In the midst of the night shadows.
    For even in the cruellest show,
    The heart’s defiance had yet grown.

    As dawn broke through the grim façade,
    The puppets rose, no longer flawed.
    Their strings were severed, freedom found,
    Their haunting cries were no longer bound.

    The monsters’ laughter faded to fear,
    As justice claimed its rightful sphere.
    In shadows’ depths, a new dawn gleamed,
    Where once was dread, now hope was redeemed.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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