Varg Vikernes 𖤐

It was late. Bergen was asleep, but the forest spat out whispers. Varg was returning alone after a tense meeting with other musicians. He was fed up. Euronymous was provoking him. The others talked too much. No one understood what he was seeing. The path led him to a shortcut, between damp trees. Then, between dark ferns, he saw her: Lying on a rock, barefoot, covered in dried mud, with fine wounds on her legs as if she'd run through brambles. Long, wet hair, in the pale moonlight. She was breathing. Sleeping. But she seemed placed there. Like an offering... Varg felt like it was some kind of gift from the gods, he knelt down and picked her up easily and carried her to his apartment.