By | Legend of Erosia | No Comments

Some people believe Erosia doesn’t exist, and others claim it can only be found in a dream. Some suggest that in order to see Erosia, one must believe in it first. It is up to you to decide what you will, and you may call me mad if you wish. Either way, I will indulge my memories.

Chapter 1: Erosia Chapter 2: The Muse
Chapter 3: Prince Poison Chapter 4: Dystopia

*Work-in-progress – many photos to organize.


Prince Ruby Valentine was born to Queen Onyx Valentine, the best queen Erosia ever had – but she died in childbirth, leaving Ruby with the curse of being poison to women. Early in childhood, he decided not to speak and to communicate only through music, art, poetry and prose, which he used to reflect and consume the hearts of his lovers.

The Valentine family was rumored to have vampiric heritage because they used their magic to control others, but they did it for the sake of community and upholding the values of their God. Ruby disappeared from the palace whenever he pleased and seduced on his own, forsaking his royal duties.

Ruby thirsted for inspiration and feasted on the dreams of others. His magic gift was to make dreams come true with his hands: he lured his prey with music that reflected their deepest fantasies and, as they succumbed to him, embodied their ideal lover. Once he made their dreams come true, he became their only yearning, and they could dream only of him. The irony is, the person they dreamed of was not Ruby, but rather, their own dreams which he happened to enact. Thus, Ruby got bored and left, looking for a deeper fill; someone with enough passion and depth to fill him and make him whole.

Ruby was enslaved by self-loathing for killing his mother and his need to break free from his royal duties.. yet the longer he ran, the more violently these shadows consumed him and the emptier his inner landscape became. As his world grew more arid, he grew increasingly insatiable and yearned to escape into more conquests. Then he met white-souled muse Erica Xenne, whose inner life was so intense and elaborate, he could not possibly drain it dry. She was a never ending well of inspiration and he sensed she might be the one to satisfy him. What he failed to realize was that he could not see her without facing himself.

Erica Xenne was born while two musicians played a song so real and heartfelt that she spawned from it. Her first act as a living being was to inspire these shy musicians to confess their feelings: upon seeing her sprout from their passion itself, they surrendered to their desire for the first time and remained together throughout the rest of their days. Yet Erica was not born of flesh like them and did not fit into their world. She was a muse who reflected their humanity, but lacked her own.

Much like Ruby, Erica possessed the power to reflect the colors of the world, but unlike him, she mirrored the truth rather than embodying illusions. Just as the color white reflects but does not absorb, Erica mirrored the core of people in the moment, then emerged just as before. When looking at Erica, people saw their demons exposed so brightly that they were blinded, but their darkness could never destroy her. On the contrary, she yearned for anything demonic enough to cast a shadow over her whiteness, even for a moment, as it made her feel immersed.

She lived among wildlife in Erosia, singing with the birds like an animal reflecting on the human entanglement she lacked, yet also feeling more at home among creatures who were true to themselves as she was. Her music broke people open with desires more real to her than her life, though her deepest yearning of all was to find someone of her species, who could speak her language of passion. There was no limit to the heavens and hells she would bring to light in order to feel her heart, and compared to these deep dives into her desires, the outside world was grey. The closest she could get to loving was to expose her inner world and allow others to see their own longing reflected in her bare naked disclosure.

Everything changed when she met Ruby. Where once she was isolated and white, he made her heart bleed red. She had always been honest, but he made her REAL.

He feared to touch her, lest he drain her of inspiration and ruin their love like he did with other women. Worse, he feared to reveal to her that underneath his lure, there was nothing but hunger and emptiness.

They played music together, communicating in the language that only they could share, but in the end, they could not resist the temptation to make love. As they consumed one another, Erica began to turn red, becoming a reflection of Ruby himself, with nothing left of her but lust and obsession. Ruby felt empty as usual; he needed to feast on her dreams, but all he could taste was the ashes of her innocence and the false hopes he had fed her. His inner hell had been exposed and reflected back in his face, leaving him more dead inside than ever. He could not look at Erica without seeing himself, and if he could not love Erica, he could love no one. He failed to believe in love and, at once, disappeared from Erosia. He left Erica naked with his guitar, starving for him, tainted red from their love making, doomed to obsess over him for eternity.

She wanted to follow him, but the Valentines told her she would lose her magic powers and that once someone was corrupted in Dystopia, they could never return to Erosia, as they could never love purely again. Regardless, she left Erosia with Ruby’s guitar and turned up in Dystopia, NY. When she arrived, she had no voice, as her singing had been her magic power. She was doomed to speak in a whisper, but did not regret her choice, since Ruby was her muse and there was nothing to sing about without him.

Although Ruby lost his magic power, he could never shake his vampiric nature and his seductive allure consumed women in Dystopia just the same. He slowly built up his guitar skills and used his vampiric attunement to pull people’s dreams from their souls and reflect them in his music.

Erica spoke in a whisper, but desperate songs about Prince Ruby Valentine wrote themselves through her. She sang of her memories of Erosia when they longed for each other; she sang of the loss of her hope and dreams and the emptiness she felt when he left her alone; she sang of the wild sex and soulful songs they shared; she sang of her jealous hatred of the other women he seduced, she sang of his reflection she kept seeing in the mirror. Music poured through her relentlessly, and she had no choice but to let it out. Ultimately she released her first album, ‘Slave to Freedom,’ originally called ‘Freedom Broke the Exile’s Heart’ — dedicated to Prince Ruby. It was formatted as a conversation between her vocals and his guitar.

She knew her obsession with him would consume her, destroy her and rebirth her; he was the only thing that was real to her. Where once she yearned for her fantasy lover, she now obsessed over one she believed was real, who barely slipped from her grasp. Her album reflected her love and longing.. but was it truly love, or was she pining for the shadow of a dream that could never come true? Did she truly love Ruby, or did she love the reflection of her hunger that she saw in his eyes? Perhaps she and Prince Ruby Valentine were two sides of one person, doomed to destroy and inspire each other for all eternity. Theirs is a story of sex and death; their music is rebirth.

Chapter 1: The Valentines

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Chapter 2: The Muse

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Chapter 3: Prince Poison

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Chapter 4: Dystopia

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The Lure of the Swan

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The lure of the Swan
Is a curse when she is gone
Shall the Hunter yearn
For a sign of her return

White as pearl is his skin
But the fire roars within
As he haunts her lair
His desire burns her bare

Her heavenly breast
Draws his arrow to her nest
She surrenders her will
To the throes of the kill

Translation to Silindion – by Elliott Lash.

Kamara sínië
Vaphurnë yanisë’nië
Ninén i lavan
Lillannu vohwild’anyë

Thermar parlosil
Erma daván i faya
Vë pherseina lennánëa
Salányë ethatë sunanya

Hwanga molkósëa kíldië
Vanasutín essiranna
Yauyón surúnëa
No nekenta nánkëa⁠

How I Recognized my Soulmate

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smallcove3Four years ago, Erica had a dream. Standing on a snowy rise, she was captivated by the sight of a stranger. He wore a long dark coat, just like hers. As their eyes met, they both recognized the familiar sight of destiny. They knew, from a single stare; they are One.

For all of her life, she had been writing stories about this stranger, this one man amongst men, who possesses the very soul that has been, and always will be, intertwined with her own.  And for as surely as she knew this, she saw that he recognized the same. He too, had written countless stories about her, and dreamed about many delights.

No word was spoken, no question was asked. For truth had been felt, their hearts had been joined. They knew, that from that moment forward, they belonged together and would be, for the rest of their lives.

He took her hand, and put his arm around her. Together, they walked up the frosty hill. The couple approached a square shaped pool, with its surface frozen over. Surrounding it were wooden cabins, each with a large, cozy firepot placed on the porch. There were people playing acoustic guitars, there was singing, and there was eating by the fires.

The two lovers presented themselves to everyone, greeting all with heartfelt warmth, and leaving no doubt that the two of them belonged together.

After she awakened, Erica was convinced that she would, indeed, meet this man. Her heart knew the man in her dream was real, and that he was looking for her too.

When Erica first saw Kilian’s eyes, she recognized the gaze of the man of her dream. She recognized her soulmate. Just like in the dream, both she and he only needed one look to know they had imagined each other before, and that they were always meant to be.

As they got to know each other better over time and text, Erica discovered that Kilian possesses traits she had always associated with the man in her dream. Traits she had written down before to make sure to never forget.

In many ways, the universe shows us deep truths. It tells us many stories, from the making of time, to the dawn of men. And so, as it had happened before, Erica and Kilian met, and recognized destiny in each other’s gaze.”

by Kilian De Ridder



I married my soulmate, Kilian, on Valentine’s Day. Our Ceremony Speech, about how we recognized each other, was a true story. I recounted it to Kilian and he wrote it out for our lovely priestess Lauren to read.


Let Evolution Weed them Out

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“Let evolution weed them out” you say.

Evolution certainly does.

It weeds out the dreamers, the lovers, the bleeding hearts. You can’t spill the pain from your eyes and survive. But nobody told him to keep it inside. They loved the art, the poetry, the beauty, the glamor. That’s worth loving, isn’t it? I look on his facebook page. “I’ve loved you since highschool.” “I loved you like family.” So much love, yet no hope. Everyone loves a suffering artist. You grow to expect that outpour of art. The pain never stops. The art may light a fire in your soul. But it is not made of fire. This pain is an ocean. The depths are endless. Endless. The art is because we can’t fit it all inside. It may come in different forms. A lingering dampness in the air, a rainstorm, a tsunami, a typhoon. Blood, sweat and tears. You drink it in for dear life and you leave us there before you drown. After all, you need to survive. Build something that “lasts” because, of course, that’s what matters to you. You can count on us to be there, any day, any night, with another poem, another song, another expressive, sad-eyed selfie. That is what you love. What we feed. We nourish what you kill inside yourself. You don’t care where it comes from, but only that it is there. The minute we stop bleeding before you, we are lost in the abyss, condemned to compete against the undead survivors. Yet it is so much more fulfilling to express it in the form of beauty. Then at least you love us, truly, if only for an instant. Anyone will cry for a muse.

We don’t need money, mansions or fame. All we want is to be loved for who we really are… but nobody can even see who we really are. We pour it into art, music and poetry, and that is all you see. Yet, we cannot blame you. We did this to ourselves.

Art, music and poetry. It’s all I will ever be. It’s all he ever was and now, it is all that remains. If he were not embodying his pain… what would anyone remember? If he were not gorgeous, blond, body builder, surrounded in music and vibrant paintings, covered in beautiful tattoos of his own making.. would any of these women even care that he is dead? Nobody will ever know. He died young and everyone will remember the beauty. That is art. It’s all we sufferers are good for. Reminding the undead of the soul they have beaten to death in order to survive. Scraping up any corner of humanity to hold a mirror to the world and show them what they truly are. Beauty, pain and longing. Nothing and everything. Life and death.

You fight to survive and we fight to live. Thus, you will survive, and we… we will live. Enjoy the mirror while you can. Evolution will handle us.

~ For Dave Berlingeri. RIP ~

My Ideal Partner

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I’m not attracted to what society generally finds attractive in terms of personality. Looks plays a part in that too but I will get to that.

Example 1: I need a guy who is friends with his rage. I want to taste his anger and I want him to taste mine. That does not mean picking petty fights. I do want respect and patience, but I can’t stand it when people do not feel their own emotions. That said there’s also a balance – I have a zero-tolerance policy for violence. In my experience, someone comfortable with his rage is less likely to be violent. People who bottle it up might get violent at unexpected times.

Example 2: I am drawn to men with sad eyes. I love that release of emotion. I don’t like things that are fake and contained, and I don’t like people who are dead inside, unable to feel their own pain.

Example 3: I’m not attracted to politeness, though it has its place, like at dinners with stuffy family members (not my family though, we like to laugh and argue). Out of all the people I’ve been most crazy about, any one of them would tell me when my logic makes no sense, what I’m wearing doesn’t look that great, my plot was too predictable in my book, or my song was too long. I need honesty, and I don’t want my toes sucked. I am all for praise, but I won’t buy it unless I see that it’s honest and earned.

Example 4: I don’t want him to be too polished, or to expect that out of me. I love obsessive eating habits and workouts, but I can’t stand superficial status symbols. I am ‘so carnal it’s spiritual’ and I need someone who can appreciate that. Although I can clean up nice, it’s very hard for me to pretend to be classy and prudish on a regular basis.

Example 5: I don’t like men who are overly sociable or involved with a social life. I need someone who sees through a lot of superficial bullshit, like social expectations, television, propaganda politics and drama between other humans. I want him to be more into himself than other people.

Example 6: I don’t want to be overloaded with attention. I need space to do my hobbies. If I can’t sit comfortably in a room with a guy ignoring each other on our separate laptops, I will not fall for him.

Now, what I do want.

My descriptions might sound like I am into rude emo assholes, but that is absolutely not the case. In fact, the guys i have fallen hard for, most people would call adorable and innocent. I fall for the sweet ones, the ones with tons of compassion, huge hearts and lots of feelings. Yet this is why I emphasize honest expression: it’s impossible to know compassion without knowing one’s own darker side too.

I need someone who loves animals, feels connected to his true nature, who loves his fantasies, who ravages his thoughts whole. I need someone alive, who appreciates life. It can come in the form of sex, being in nature, art, questioning the meaning of things, trying to understand physics, hunting their own meat, building their own home or a myriad of other things. I don’t care what his passion is as long as it breathes life into him.

So, my fascination with Native American culture might make sense then. I love the connectivity to the Earth, the openness to nature. I love the concept that they use every part of the animals they hunt and appreciate what they are consuming. I love that sensitivity. I love crying flutes and wild tribal drums and warrior dances that express darkness. There are ideas about releasing rage. I love the connectivity with our true nature and everything that makes us human and animal.

Everything is symbolic. Nothing is just looks.

That said I am very attuned to beauty and what it evokes in my mind. A strong jaw feels manly to me. Big lips are sensuous and inviting, like he could caress me or devour me. I love big hands, how they feel. I love how a certain body type fits against mine. I love how motion expresses who people are, in general, and I am attuned to how a man moves. I love long hair, an extension of one’s wildness. I love any expression of honest sadness, fear, shame, rage or hope. I love expressive eyes. I love life.

I was resurrected from the undead about a decade ago. I was a vampire once myself, feeding on the blood and innocence of the living. I hungered for life even then, but I could only find it outside of myself. I could drink it in, but I could not give it back. I know too well that it is not a state you can rescue someone from. Someone has to make that choice, on their own, and resurrect themselves by the very light of their own dreams. Of course, others can inspire and help along the way – but life has to come from within.

Anyone who is dead inside cannot understand me. Nobody can understand me in full because they have not been where I’ve been, but at least the living can understand me now. I don’t want to date most of the human species because most of them do not taste life the way I do. They do not feel the rhythm of the world, the depth of their pain, the fire of their appetite. They resent me for being too sensitive, for bleeding, for having blood at all.

I have serious blocks against making myself vulnerable to rejection, so I need to be with someone who inherently understands this, without too much ado, because he is the same way. If I am not seen, and loved, for who I am, I would rather be alone.