Page 82 of The Flesh Remembers
James and Eleanor were no longer two beings.
They were one.
One god.
One desire.
One eternal, insatiable hunger.
And as the first moans of new worshipers rose in the distance, as the first prayers of a new, twisted faith whispered through the air, Eleanor knew.
She had made the right choice.
Because she was no longer Eleanor.
She was his.
She was divine.
And she was eternal.
Excerpt from the diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft
James and I are one.
We always have been.
Now we always shall be.
I no longer remember who I was, only that she is gone, distant, dissolved like a whisper lost in the wind. A faded echo of something small, something fragile, something that no longer matters.
I am so much more than I once was.
I am nothing and everything.
I am endless.
I am eternal.
I am him.
And he is me.
His pulse hums within my veins. His breath is my own. His thoughts bleed into mine until there is no distinction, no separation, only our vast, consuming unity.
I do not fear it.
I do not resist.
This is not loss.
This is love.
Love beyond time, beyond flesh, beyond the constraints of a world too small to contain us.
I belong to him.
And he belongs to me.
