The Demon Lover’s Wedding Night
My face has no face, only expressions. My body is made of blunders. My identity, an error of judgment. I thought I would taste different. You are mistakes of your own. You own me, and that’s a debt that will gobble your life in time. Your face, newborn to conjugal bliss, twists at the teat of durance flavored with me. I’m acquired, and not to be quit. Don’t worry: eventually, every scar settles into its flesh.
— Mort Duffy
October 16th 2025
Halloween Day 16
A blog by Bedrieger Junction's Slant of Light writing group