The Demon-Forge

In which an obsession is revealed

The Demon-Forge

 

He stood before a column of heat.

It rose above ruddy embers

laced with sharp iron shards

not quite molten.

 

A scaffold rose around that column.

It was like a spiral stair

and at its center was a sculpture,

handfuls of clay and then more and more.

 

As he began, he added cups of oil

then gallons,

that the clay might remain supple.

He was not firing the clay but infusing it with fire.

 

Two feet he built, in workman-like way.

They were Young feet, smooth, beautiful,

supple and strong.

He built a foundation for a demoness.

He constructed her legs.

They were strong and lithe.

Above all, they were beautiful.

The legs any woman wanted.

 

He laved them with oil

to keep them from baking.

He built her hips, gripped them

and caressed them as would a lover.

 

He gave her a narrow waist

and a clever navel with a curve

found only in a sea-shell.

He poured on more oil.

 

He patted and squeezed her ribs

into being.

They were flawless above

her clever navel.

 

Her breasts were a work of art.

He fondled them, an indifferent

lover, more interested in their

perfection than in any lust.

 

He gave her strong, wide shoulders.

She would be another Penthesilea,

not Ares daughter but his own.

And then he made her arms.

 

She had arms like a huntress.

They were lithe and muscled.

They were beautiful in a ball-gown.

They were beautiful in buckskins.

 

Her hands might wield a sword

or a knife with equal strength.

Her fingers would pull the bow-string

and stroke a lover’s chin all the same.

 

Oh, don’t forget the oil.

Gallons were necessary now.

He was not baking a clay pot.

He was birthing a woman.

 

Above her long, slender neck,

he gave her an oval head

with a great mane of hair.

She could always cut her hair.

 

He poured still more oil

across her entire body

and ensured it could not harden.

His work was nearly done.

 

He gave her a face all of ovals.

High cheekbones, and a

line of jaw that drew the eye.

A cupid’s bow was her mouth.

 

Her eyes were made of transparent

cabochon that white-blue gem

that people call the moonstone.

And her elfin face was done.

 

He spoke the words.

Flame erupted from within

his creation and cracked

the no-longer supple clay.

 

It crumbled before his eyes

but as each crumb fell, as each flake

fell away into the fire

it still remained.

 

A demoness was born.

He offered her his hand

and she stepped from heat

onto his scaffolding.

 

She moved like a ship

under sail, smoothly

as though before the wind.

He stared and it did not mind.

 

“Take your place with the others,”

he told her and began anew,

all unknowing that he didn’t

really want another demon slave.

 

He wanted that woman,

the one from long ago;

she that spoke to him

but never wanted him.

Reviews

[Tucker]

This is a great read.

It really tells a lot about the main character. It shows how he perfects his creation out of love and care, but at the end it shows that there's more to it than that, and it might also be pain and longing. That's how I took it at least.

It's really interesting how he creates one so meticulously, paying so much attention to every tiny detail, but in the end she's only one of many, and not what he truly wants. It illustrates, in my opinion, how the world and people in it can create it and themselves so flawlessly, but in the end their just one of the crowd. It shows how everyone is created desirably, and they are special in who they are, but never appreciated.

Very captivating read! =)