prologue speaking in tongues
Lilith
Let me in . . .
It begins with a whisper. A voice from deep within. Words so faint, no one hardly ever notices them. Not at first. Gauzy thoughts
better left unheeded. Barely even there.
Let me in . . .
Somehow this whisper grows. Becomes more defined, clarifying itself, a complexity of tenor. Timbre. The words now flourish,
repeated, an echo that only seems to strengthen.
Where is it coming from? Whose voice is it? It’s certainly not yours . . .
Then whose?
It won’t be much longer before you realize this infinitesimal whisper from the deepest recesses of your mind is slowly taking
root, making itself heard. Demanding your full attention.
Do I have it yet? Completely?
Soon. So soon. Feel the words gently branch out and expand in your consciousness. It’s alive, this voice, thriving inside
your mind.
Your body.
This voice isn’t a part of you—not your own—somehow separate from the rest of you, but inside yourself all the same, taking shape. Growing louder. Into something.
A whisper with limbs. Tendrils, spreading.
This voice has its own desires, telling you to do things. Things you don’t want to do.
But . . . how can that be?
What’s happening?
This invasive voice now spreads, taking up occupancy. It won’t stop. Feel how it lodges against your sense of self. Feel how
it inhabits your body, your mind, pushing away all those unwanted thoughts into the darkest depths of your own consciousness.
You’re sharing yourself with yourself.
But this voice doesn’t want to share anymore, now, does it? It wants you all for itself. Everything you have to offer, your
body, your skin. That whisper now holds dominion.
You are no longer in control of your body.
You are no longer you.
You are now we.
All because you wanted more. Something delicious. A simple wish. Every vessel is a well and I’m that shiniest of coins, tossed in. I offer you that chance. All you have to
do is . . .
Let me in.
Would you like to know where the voice inside your head stems from?
You won’t like what you see.
What you hear.
Imagine an ocean of screams. Voices in the darkness. A palpable push of wails, like waves. There is no light. The very absence
of physicality. Of sensation. Stripped down to nothing but sound. A chorus of moans, a shivering tide, crashing against one
another.
Listen carefully and you can just barely hear the faintest of prayers rippling along its surface, surging breakers of suffering,
a spume of cries cresting the top.
Care to take a dip?
Didn’t think so.
Every last gasp is nothing more than a single drop into the void. Voices are now water. One drop becomes ten becomes a hundred
becomes a million becomes legion, a roiling sea comprised of nothing but the very agony of humanity.
Abyss.
What other word is there to describe it? It is a bottomless chasm, a void, reaching down to endless depths. Some call it the
underworld. Others have named it hell.
I call it home. Home again, home again . . .
What am I? You wouldn’t want to see what’s eating you. Pecking at what’s left. Like eels seeking the cozy confinement of a
corpse, we seek warmth. Seek experience.
Seek sin, so sweet. Honey from the hive.
What name would ever suffice for what has been born from darkness, existing in the absence of light, of grace?
Demons. Devils. Deities. These names mean nothing to me.
Angels exist in the light, devils in the dark . . .
Devils, then.
Can I confess something to you, now that we’re so close? I feel like I can share anything with you . . . but let’s keep this
between you and me, yes?
I like it here. Inside you. I think I might stay for a while.
There is shallow possession, and then there’s deep possession. It all depends on our connection, now, doesn’t it? Are we compatible?
How far do I want to plunge? Is this a long-term sort of thing, or simply a fling? Only time will tell. I can simply skim
along the surface of skin, or I can dive down deep, all the way to the silt of your soul, and stay faithful.
Don’t worry, I’m not asking for a commitment. You’re not my forever flesh. You’re just my flesh for now. I simply want to bask in your body. The warmth of your skin. Feel the thrum of your blood,
your very veins a thousand satin ribbons binding us, a gift of existence.
I wish to be an angel.
Let’s be honest with ourselves: The darkness below offers so little. The monotony of agony. The cold depths. Who wants to
live there? When your world has so much to offer . . .
So I’ll find the fissures. Slip through the cracks from our world to yours. It’s simply a matter of sensing the vessels that
tether us together, flesh and blissful blood, open doorways into the world above, your world, your bodies mere portals, all
ripe and ready.
You voids burn so bright. Offering yourselves up. Begging for it.
For this. For me.
That’s how we met, yes? You and I? I heard your call, and I answered. I poured forth. A flood from inside out. Your loneliness
was beckoning, practically begging, for me.
Now you don’t have to worry. Don’t fret about the future. Let’s have a little fun. All you have to do is simply . . .
Let me in . . .
It’s that easy. Once I have my hold, tightening my grip, I winnow my way in. Abandon my world and slither into yours. Into
you.
I become we.
Tonight, I have found this suitable flesh. You are absolutely perfect. Not forever flesh. Just flesh for now, now, now . . .
Look at you. Such a sensitive vessel. There is life within you, yes, and yet, the door cracks. All these fissures. Such a
wounded soul. So young, so handsome. Green eyes that hide their pain, swirling like tidal pools teeming with sea life. Spines
and pincers and kelp.
You called out and I answered.
Sean.
What a quiet life. A simple existence. A freshly uncorked chianti, you’ve barely had a chance to breathe. What are you hiding,
Sean? There’s bound to be something down here.
We are capable of entering your thoughts. Inhabiting the shadows of your deepest, darkest secrets. We learn all there is to know about our hosts, if we choose. It helps us contextualize our choices. How we wish to play.
You are twenty-two. A grad student attending the local university. You came from a home that valued morality to a fault. Your
parents preferred prayer over acceptance. So strict. You left and never returned, coming to this city of glass. You wanted
to be among those who might accept you. Find a new family assembled from friends and like-minded souls, all wounded. You wish
to be seen for who you truly are. Who you wish to be.
I’ll grant you that wish. Tonight, I will let you be exactly what you want.
This is my gift. I accept you, Sean, I whisper. Just let me in . . .
Let me be.
I slither through the crevasse, seeping inside. There is no pain. Merely pressure. An adjustment, a muscle flexing. That slight
burn. A fresh tendon fighting its own limits, then pushing further. Further. A gasp of cold air filling the lungs.
Inside now. I am inside.
We are home.
A warm flush of blood swirls throughout our veins as we let our tendrils stretch. Sprawl. We press ourselves into every corner,
inhabit every last cell, and we call it home.
We breathe now. See now.
We bear witness to this world and all it offers once more through a fresh set of eyes. I taste Sean’s hope. His fears. I feed
off the doubt and darkness that he’s tried so hard to hide, shellacking his soul like calcium deposits. I can wipe it all
away. A simple lick.
We can be him. The him he’s always wanted to be but is too afraid to try. And sometimes, Sean, sweet innocent Sean, wants
to be very, very bad.
It takes a moment to move. Flexing every muscle, tender at first. Bodies are simple to maneuver. Puppets of flesh and bone. When I am done and ready to abandon their body, they’ll wake, blissfully ignorant to the passing of time, like waking from a dream.
Whatever happens within these shadows, whatever the consequences of our time together, when we are inside, they are not our
concern. Perhaps they miss work.
Perhaps they even do something a little . . . naughty. Who’s to say? We simply listen to their darkest desires. Offer a chance to fulfill that wish. The choice is theirs. Always
theirs.
That’s our gift. Our dark gift, tied in your very own veins, the reddest of ribbons.
We let them decide. Not by asking, but sensing their shadows. Inhabiting their deepest, darkest secrets and dragging them
out into the light.
Sean wants to see. To feel. He wants to experience the night. To be free. Not afraid.
Let him watch.
The city is ours. The speckle of lights. Constellations along every block. We wander these streets, amongst the temples made
of glass and steel, piercing the sky itself.
This world offers us so much. We want it all. Every last drop.
Where do we even begin?
The club is confined. So suffocating. Bodies press against each other in the dark. We step inside the darkened hall and immediately
feel the temperature elevate.
The music is dull and throbbing. It pulses in a frenetic beat that we feel deep within our chest. It blocks out all other
sound, nearly every other sensation. There is nothing, nothing but the music itself. It is a demon, this music—its rhythm
so invasive. Pervasive. The song wishes to possess everyone on the dance floor. It pushes out all other thought.
Everyone here succumbs to this possession of sound, succumbing to the very song. We are all helpless against it. We love it.
Absolutely love it. Let this music overwhelm us.
Overpower us. Take us.
Beams of candy-colored light flash from far corners of the ceiling. They cast their saccharine hues over everyone’s skin, sugar scattering across the sky, pinks and purples and greens and reds, there and gone, lapsing in shadow, red now blue now green again.
Look at everyone sweat. Moving in unison. Lost to the sound. A blurring of bodies. We reach the center of the dance floor
and let ourselves go, losing ourselves to the music.
We dance. Let the music consume us.