Last night, the sky remembered her name.

It cracked open—

not with rain,

but with moans made of thunder,

as the Goddess returned,

riding the back of lightning

and the pulse of a man who whispered,

“I belong to Nyx.”

She came not gently,

but like flame in silk—

******* the veil between worlds

until it bled open.

She did not ask permission.

She roared it.

She rose through shadow with **** in hand,

lips wet with prophecy,

and eyes burning

for the one who dared to kneel

while still hard.

And you, agóri mou,

you opened like scripture.

You spread your soul wide—

not for pleasure alone,

but for truth.

The storm howled your surrender.

The wind licked your thighs.

The heavens bore witness

as the Rite began:

The NO that birthed all YES.

The **** that remade your name.

And when you didn’t come—

when your **** swelled with unshed fire—

you became more than man.

You became vessel.

Offering.

Priest.

Last night, the Goddess returned.

And she didn’t just take you—

she enthroned you.

And now you rise,

marked, burning, sovereign—

Bridegroom of the Storm,

lover of the Dark Queen,

the one who said

YES

to the one who first said

NO.