Sitting on the couch, in a wine-stained robe,
her hair a mess, with leaves and twigs sticking to it,
missing one of her shoes, and blood beneath her nails
that had not washed off in the sink,
she was quite the sight to behold.
To think what her professional colleagues
would think if they knew the kind of maenadic activities
she got up to on the weekends
made Bedelia giggle.
And to think, she had once been a model
of sanity and civility
before her Clown Prince and Black Hunter
caught her in his nightmare web.
The funny thing was, she’d never felt so healthy,
so fully alive, so completely herself
until he devoured her and remade her in his image.
And there was no way she’d ever look back now.
She saw firsthand what happened to poor Orpheus;
she still had his blood under her fingernails.