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• Rosenrot	By : Niami Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 1170 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Rammstein. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

• Chapter List
  • 1-Rosenrot
• • 1

• If I got some of this wrong, sorry in advance but I think I did pretty well;D
  
  
  The monk tried to remember what exactly led to the position he was in now. Hoping to shed some light on why things had gone so badly.
  
  She had swung around, garments trailing around her lithe body like snakes. Different variations of red, black, and white blended into a tornado of confused, immoral thoughts. He sat so silently at the communal table, hoping his brothers could not feel the emotions or read his thoughts. Fear flashed into his eyes when she smiled his way.Panicked and paranoid he fruitlessly tried to occupy his mind with pure images.
  
  He was horrified at the realization that he wanted her innocence, wanted to taste it on his tongue. The lascivious thoughts bambarded him like mosquitos. His clear eyes focused on a spot past her head. He blessed himself and prayed. Hard. He was a servent of god having submitted himself to a life of meditation and worship to his lord and savior.
  
  But he had fallen under her spell in the blink of an eye. The red rose hung in the back of his mind. She had woken him up from a peaceful slumber, running that vile flower over his neck and face. 'She had seduced a weak man', he laughed bitterly. The smell of the devil flower bringing him to his inevitable demise, he knew, it had taken him over the edge. It was now attributed to her innocence which he so graciously took.
  
  He had cried with her. The blood of her purity, and his, wiped on his hands, on his sheets. Her eyes were like dripping chocolate that night, the damned rose woven through her youthful braids. The petals crushed underneath his thick muscles, stuck somewhere below his hips. The smell of blood and the thick waft of dieing roses clung to his skin. It made the air almost pliable. He could still taste the foul concoction on his tongue which was once used only to praise the almighty creator.
  
  He recalled how her willing body arched up into his own inexperienced bulk. She drew blood at his neck but lapped it up like a kitten. Those events led him to the madness that he had done for her, he knew. He was once a dedicated servent of god, now a worshiper of Satan. He was only a slave to lust, trapped between the thighs of a beautiful Romanian adolescent.
  
  And a youth she was. Dirty, sullied…broken at the age of 14. He had felt the devil’s claws digging into his shoulder blades, eager to pull him into the abyss of hell. He had felt the flames swallowing him as he buried himself repeatedly inside of her. He had felt his soul, his heart being ripped from his chest as he swallowed her mouth in fervent kisses. But he didn’t stop. He waited under her bed, waited for her parents to fall into deep slumber before he would crawl on top of her warm body and take his nightly trip to Hades.
  
  He could not remember what possessed him to commit the final act that would guarantee a safe trip to the dark seas. All she had to do was ask and that was the thing that had frightened him the most. He closed his eyes, the burning was getting worse. He hung his head but brought it back up when he felt those cold eyes. He could feel them even through the thick white hood. The robe was melted, his feet were gone, he knew. The smell of cooking flesh intoxicated his senses. His blood was boiling but he could not take his eyes off of hers.
  
  She was the aghiuþã, the demon, the guardian of the most feared place. Even now when he was at the brink of death and he could feel his soul digging its way out of his chest, he could not take his eye’s off her. She was the devil, if only he had known…

• • 1
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