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Bittersweet Kiss

She didn’t mean it.

She tried to warn them. She tried to keep them away, tried to frighten them off — but it was always the same in the end. Her curse took their lives, and left her with only cold bodies at her feet. Unable to save them, unable to keep the death toll from rising.

It was such a stupid curse, such an unnecessarily cruel one. All she had to do was keep her hands to herself, let no one hold her close, let no one taste her lips. Let no one hear her sweet words, let no one pass the (sometimes literal) walls she put up.

Never let herself fall in love, and everything would be fine.

It shouldn’t have been so hard, but ,of course, her curse couldn’t have made it any easier on it’s victim. No, it had to make her heart too large, too open, to desperate for even a brief taste of affection.

Her family is buried now. Lives stolen by simple hugs, little pecks on cheeks and foreheads, even holding hands came with a hefty price. Her parents, her sisters and brothers, her closest cousins, her aunts and uncles. Her friends, her lover.

She’d managed to spare her nieces and nephews and more distant relatives, fortunately. She wishes them well, and prays she never runs into them. She’s ripped out enough of her families roots.

They were all gone now, the people she once held close, and she had only the curse to blame. A curse she doesn’t even know where or whom she got it from. After a while she’s stopped caring about the how, and focuses on the why.

(She never gets an answer. Never finds the one who decided to make her life a living hell.)

All she knows is one day she awoke from a dark, unremembered nightmare, to her beloved laying cold and stiff next to her. She hadn’t known it was possible to scream so loudly, hadn’t thought she could cry for so long.

It’s funny what trauma teaches you.

She hadn’t known then, if she had she would’ve pushed her loved ones away. She would have tried harder, run and hidden and possibly, destroyed herself. She hadn’t known such a poison could rise without her notice, could slither out from her pours, bite those who only sought to comfort her, to love her, only to return back under her skin with a unseen sickening grin.

It wasn’t fair. What had she done to deserve this? What heinous act could she have possibly committed to be condemned so? Or had she just attracted the attention of a bitter and broken witch, a demon looking for fun. Why had she been cursed?

It wasn’t fair.

Not to her, not to any of her unwanted victims. She’s buried so many she could fill up an entire graveyard herself. She wonders if she’ll ever be rid of the stains on her hands. She wonders if it is possible to run out of tears.

Fine. Someone wanted her to be a killer, a destroyer, fine. She would be one. She would make use of her killing touch, her kiss of death. (She is a lover, a forgiver, but with this murderous caress? She wonders if she’ll remain that way for long.)

If she can’t get rid of this poison in her veins, she’ll find a use for it.


They call her Death’s Lover now. She supposes there are worse things to be called. There are certainly worse fates to suffer from than her condemning touch. The cruelty of the world deserved worse than a quick death that claimed you in slumber, but she had to make do. Her kisses could not be freely given in passion, in joy, so she turned them into daggers that struck without warning.

Now she walks the night, pressing sweet kisses to cruel smirks and knuckles broken in the name of rage and sick fun. She offers a gentle hand to blood-drenched fingers and palms still warm with smoke and gun-powder. She tastes the pulse of her victims, listens as their hearts stutter to a halt, holds them still as they grow cold. (A personal punishment for her own untraceable murders.) Only to flee, forgotten and lost to the winds come morning light. Never to be caught, for there is never a tangible weapon on her person. No way for anyone to prove her guilty. (Save her own conscience.)

Several decades pass and still, she hasn’t been caught. She wonders sometimes what she will do if or when she is. She decides to burn that bridge when she gets there. She doesn’t think about what to do when she dies.

She does wonder if the curse will linger on her corpse. (She wonders if death by fire would be so bad. If the hot flames would finally cleanse her skin of this poison.) But that is a thought for the future. For now, she must focus on the present, on avoiding contact with innocent people, especially children. She had desired to have children so long ago, and the knowledge of another thing stolen from her makes her grow even more bitter.

Not that it matters now. She is Death’s Lover, and death has no love to give her. Though at least, his chest must be as cold and empty as hers.

Her beloved, her family and friends had not considered her cruel, so she would try not to be. But with her position…

She’s not sure she has a choice to chose otherwise.

2 thoughts on “Bittersweet Kiss”

  1. Fantastic blog! Do you have any recommendations for aspiring writers?
    I’m planning to start my own site soon but I’m a little lost
    on everything. Would you propose starting with a free platform like WordPress or go for a paid
    option? There are so many options out there that I’m completely
    overwhelmed .. Any suggestions? Thanks!


    1. I’m glad you enjoy my blog! I don’t have any recommendations that you likely haven’t heard from others — keep writing, send your works out, join a writers guild. I would propose starting with a free platform like WordPress, and to send your works to magazines and such that don’t ask you for payment, a least until you have a few publications of your own. But I am just starting out myself, it would be better to seek answers from Writers Guilds or places like that to help you along. Thank you.


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