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Part One

Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels’ hierarchies? And even if one of them pressed me suddenly against his heart: I would be consumed in that overwhelming existence. For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we are still just able to endure, and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us. Every angel is terrifying.”
‘The First Elegy’ Duino Elegies by Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Stephen Mitchell

“The Nephilim were on earth in those days – And also afterward – when the sons of God went to The daughters of men and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown.”
Genesis 6:4

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The lover:

A single candle flares to life in a curtained night chamber, and I know my journey is over. I came here to watch outside the manor house in the silent darkness of early morning, standing in anxious vigil as I awaited a sign. The light speaks to me, tells me I have not quested in vain.

But what power has called me here?

I thought never to return to this land, this land of my birth, this land where once my ancestors ruled with the law of sword and knout, and townsman and peasant alike abased themselves in the dust as our curtained carriages rumbled past.

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Okay, people. Here we go. Let’s do it by the numbers and get it right. Don’t forget, this is going out live, and any mistakes certainly will be seen. Camera one, focus on Slippery Dick. Adjust that white balance; get that tooth glare down.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Miss Undead 2003. My name’s Dick Wetting and I am your host for this evening of old-world grandeur and tradition,

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I’d only been waiting five minutes when the black van skidded into the space next to my car sending chips of gravel flying across the paintwork. The natural inclination to anger did not dissipate despite knowing the unimportance of a car in consideration of what would happen inside the house behind me. Mike (“Mike”) opened his car door and twisted ninety degrees to face me.

“Hot, isn’t it?” he asked.
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Tiffany tossed her blonde hair so that it cascaded in front of her, over her right shoulder. She combed her fingers through it and examined one end closely. Split ends. She decided that she would have to have a treatment. Split ends always led to the frizzies on a humid day. Next she examined the nails on her left hand. She held her hand out in front of her, turning it over, bending her fingers towards her. Her nails were still in good condition and the bright red polish wasn’t chipped. Satisfied, she decided that she could wait a few more days for a manicure.

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