Carte du Jour, Disciple

200: The Epiphany

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There are eight (8) NEW colored artworks and two (2) works in progress for DISCIPLE members only of which two (2) are free to view. Sign up & log in to view to images by visiting our secret fine dining establishment. For more details on membership tiers, ways to support the site and how to purchase comics/collections, click here. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. 

 

Hello fellow Patrons. For #200, as a celebration, I have earmarked this to be a big update, much larger than usual, and I hope you will enjoy the continuing tale, as we're in the midst of spring, an off-season hold-over of "The Last Days of Winter" story a couple of bonuses. 

 

 

Continued from Carte du Jour #193: Last Days of Winter, #194: The Green Man's Hunt, #195: Defiant Doe. and #197: Those Who Drop Breadcrumbs.

A beautiful intangible poetry, like an angel song, came to her head in that instant in the form of an epiphany. All the pain has been washed away by the numbness.

Was it the cold? It could have been, for her lover who had become a stranger, who had become her tormentor has now become once again, strangely familiar. He slowly became the man she used to thought she know, but now stripped from all of the worldly scaffoldings, now burrowing to the root of the core of one's soul... touching the true being of each other.

No. She was delirious. She was truly convinced of this. How could she come to this? He was the devil personified who did the unimaginable on her. No. She hated him. Then he was kind. Or what that all a mask. But that was him then... but now, he showed her a truth deeper than what was deemed possible, a higher calling. Wasn't the devil a beautiful angel once? Fallen for he was too perfect within the confines of dogma? 

She wanted to touch his beautiful face again. Her lover, she loved him, more than any man in her adult life. She wanted to be with him forever, now more so than ever. She thought she felt the same then in her other life, that felt like a distant dream, but now she was ever more convinced. This time, naked, amongst the trees and alone with her one true love, this moment felt more honest, naked and true than she ever felt in her entire life.

And wasn't that the purpose? That she could finally ascend into the heavens, as one with him, with God, with the souls of the past, the countless beings in the ocean, the forest, they were all one. She was just another thread in the bespoke tapestry of the heavenly aether, floating, whispering secrets of the universe, here once, gone the next in an instant.

She should hate him, but no more. She is free. Released. She knew she will die. Will she die old, with all the weight of the life on her shoulders? Of what kind of life would that lead? Of parties, baby showers, vodka martinis, news of another death in some faraway city that should outrage her but knew in her heart she didn't care, of smiling relatives who are more of a stranger to her than the devil who would consume her. When she was younger, she hated that life and dread being a woman who would one day embrace that life. It would be the death of her spirit. So this, this is merely a regression to the mean, back to the early years of youth, the freshness of being, of grand possibilities. And what grand possibility this would be, to play a part in the grand symphony of life... death... sustenance... rebirth... and once again.

Her prince, Peter, the Green Man, seducer and pied piper of young women... he looked thinner, and she feels sorry for him. He waited long enough for her. She would give herself...

No. No. She returns. She realizes she is delirious and it's the hopelessness talking... He used her like a cornered animal. He treated her like... like meat. Looked at her as is she was just prey who walked on two legs. Was that all she ever was to him?

Was it a few hours that passed? Or a day? Or weeks? Or a month? It can't be. It did feel like a lifetime and she felt her strength of will fading. She thought he would end her suffering early, but he was patient. She was flattered he liked her company long enough to keep her alive for a night or two... or many. Her muscles have been spent a long time ago after the fight, after in captivity, used and played upon. She can't... the pain in her wrists and ankles have returned. He was so kind to relieve her of the pain and let her sit on the log to relieve that pressure... oh but the pain of the blood rushing in bites harder... oh, it stings.

Why can't the pain stop? Oh... please... he isn't her lover. He IS the devil. He wants to eat her. No! Oh, God! How selfish of him! How... he used her... completely. This is worse than rape! At least they let the girl live to... be tormented forever... no... he. He is... could it be? Merciful? He wants to end her of that pain. That is mercy, in the end.

Yes, yes. Take her. Body and soul. Take it all! She submits...

I submit!

Do you know see?

Yes, I see... I see the face of God up above. He looks down upon me with his faceless beauty. The light specks of his love tickle my body... the snowflakes. I was cold, and in pain... but now... I feel their warmth, His warmth... your warmth. You will bring me to Him won't you?

But you are already with Him. Can't you see? You and me, soon, we will be one.

Oh... Oh, my God. Yes. Oh the heavens... the snow.

But the snow has stopped a long time ago, my dear.

Oh... oh? Those are... not the snow?

No. The snow has become stars now.

They're so beautiful.

That they are. And so are you. Are you ready?

You will let me go?

Yes, my love. I will.

Thank you. Thank you so m-

 

 

--to be continued?--

 

 

The following is a work in progress artwork from the story, The Post-Millennial and another one from a probable idea of a series yet to be listed, called the Artisan, a master of presentation, featuring the exploits of the disgraced French Chef.

 

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