“You who sing of lover’s lost, sing now of dreams that never will die,” and so he did, he played his lyre until the twilight fell over their heads; hence, they had not eaten a thing, but were not hungry for some reason. And they kissed: it was like unseen electrical currents shifting about their bodies; the hearts of both pumping two-hundred beats a minute, the beauty of love had filled them full, like a magical veil that could cover the earth, with a canopy of star-dust sprinkled over it.

The Volcano

It was the following morning they had both awoken to the sound of bushes and horse hoofs thumping underneath the ground, or so it sounded—echoed. They awoke, looked at one another, looked at the volcano and jumped up, embraced, and ran off to the volcano. Once they got to the rim of it, looking down into the lake, in the center of the deep volcano, they knew what lay beneath its waters. As they turned about, looked down the volcano, they could see the king’s men approaching, and the king himself.

As the king looked up towards them he saw the two melted together, he knew now beyond all reason, beyond all doubt, beyond the everlasting stars that resided above him, they had fallen in love, but it was his wife he proclaimed to his soldiers, and without a further thought he ordered them to climb the volcano, even if she and he jumped into the deadly deep, for if he could not have her, no one could.

Sometimes it is not what is right or what is wrong, it is just what is, and to the king, there was no retreat, and to Posei and Mori, there was no life without one another: no retreat, and no ground for either party to negotiate: such a crime, such a loss, but justice perhaps for all; and so she tied her left ankle to his right with her headscarf and they both jumped into the volcano, and sank to its depth, and were never heard of again.

The Monster of the Deep

By and by the king would—on the anniversary date of his lost love, his consort—climb the volcano and look down upon its deadly aquatic, its macabre waters, its eldritch eyes pruned with ghostly gray, his heart filled with sorrow, not for killing her, but for not being able to posses her; he did lover her you know. And the monster of the deep would rise to just within a foot of it surface—just a foot no more, resting its iris on the silk glow of the tearful wet, all but emerging, the king could only see those huge glossy, obtrusive eyes staring up at him, up at the king, once every year of his life, those eyes, those apathetic eyes, staring out of the green-mucky waters at him, his giant eyes with tentacles as long as a python’s reach—that must had tangled the two lovers and squeezed them to death--breathless.

It was as if he was waiting, the giant squid was waiting for the king to jump in the water, to join his lost love, to jump in the water and give up his life, to sacrifice himself for a dramatic ending to his aching heart—but the king could not, would not accommodate the monster, who seemed to imply, with a simple smile, a jeer perhaps, just that—.