The Empty Mirror
Chapter 75: Hollow
He gazed in profound awe at the depictions of the human body in art, whether in the majesty of sculpture or the richness of painting. Within the precincts of the castle, surrounded by imaginary replicas of the most celebrated works of antiquity, he immersed himself in meditation: "What is this body that I behold? Is it merely a vessel for the idealised beauty of the lofty ones, or does something deeper lie within these curves and muscles that aesthetics have immortalised?" With each statue and each canvas, his internal dialogue intensified. He questioned: "If corporeality is the essence of all that has body, then, is not art an extension of corporeality itself, a way of giving tangibility to thoughts and emotions?”
He directed his gaze towards a male replica and reflected: "Does this one, with its defiant gaze, represent the eternal struggle of man against his own internal giants, or is it simply the pursuit of body perfection?" He delved into the history of the human body: "How have historical representations of the body in art, sculpture, and painting influenced the shaping of perspective on beauty and the ideal body?" He recognised the beauty of art, but did not cease to consider it as the imperfect copy of an imperfect being, the fruit of a perfect vision. He considered: "Corporeality, then, transcends mere physical existence; it is the manifestation of identity, history, and formation. It is the canvas where the human experience is captured, a cloth that transforms with each brushstroke of evolution.”
And in the vast expanse of human history, communities have carved their legacy into the very skin of their descendants. From the bronze rings that elongate the necks of women, evoking beauty and grace, to the ink that narrates chronicles of lineage and social position, each mark on the body is a chapter of a more colossal saga. "What do these ornaments reveal about the relationship with the world?", he questioned, his voice echoing in the solitude of the castle. "Do they constitute a challenge to nature, an assertion of dominion, or a submission to forces that surpass you? The initiation rites, where the young are marked to denote their transition to adulthood, do they not represent, perhaps, an attempt to immortalise time, to capture the fleeting moment when they abandon their former self to embrace their future destino? And what of the more extreme modifications," he continued.
Contemplating images of elongated skulls and split tongues. "Do you aspire, oh human beings, to transcend humanity, or simply to redefine it in the image of the wildest imaginations?" He knew that each religion conceived of the body in a different way. For some, it was a sacred sanctuary; for others, a work of art in continuous evolution. But in all these perceptions, there was a common thread: the body as the ultimate expression of human experience. "After all," he continued, "the scars they bear are cartographies of their existences, witnesses to struggles, passions, pains, and heresies. They are the signature of humanity for humanity in the eternity of their own bodies.”
Immersed in the depths of faith and belief: "In the crucible of spirituality, the body has been both exalted and despised, a divine sanctuary and, in turn, a prison of the soul. How is it possible that the same creation is contemplated under such disparate lights?" Duality, rooted in the thought of others and crystallised by a few more, holds that the body is an earthly machine, while the spirit is a divine spark, immortal and ethereal. "Does this separation," he questioned, "represent a true essence of nature, or perhaps an illusion that distances you from the truth of existence?" On the other hand, the antagonist of duality, defended by certain currents of thought, argues that body and spirit are manifestations of a single reality. "If we accept this principle," he evaluated, "are we not, then, embracing a more global vision of being, one that recognises the inherent sacredness in all matter?" And in the midst of these two great currents, more complex conceptions emerge, like three developments in the world, which propose a richer interrelation between body, mind, and spirit.
"Could it be," the solitary one objected, "that this trio offers a more complete understanding of corporeality, one that transcends the limitations of duality and integrity? That transcendence is not seen as a flight from the flesh, but as a full realisation of the divine potential that resides in each unit of being? That the consubstantial is not despised, but celebrated as the sacred presence that permeates all existence?" he challenged, "Do these postures seek the harmony of being, or are they a vain attempt to escape from the bodily prison?" With each inhalation and exhalation in his meditation, he inquired: "This dead breath that flows, is it the link between my body and my consciousness, or simply the whisper of immortal life?" Fasting was his trial by fire, a challenge to physical need. "By denying the body its sustenance, do I elevate myself towards a deeper understanding, or do I immerse myself in the illusion of control in the midst of bile?”
He was ignorant of all sublime notions as his troubled mind was invaded by visions of naked female and male bodies before him, as if he were an aroused monarch, his member rigid, as if gradually regaining its excellence and sanctity. "Gender and sexuality," he continued solemnly, "are essential to the social identity of beggars. But to what extent are they social constructions and to what extent are they inherent to their being? The roles," he continued as he observed human interactions, "assign them a place in the social fabric. But are these roles a genuine expression of the individual or a mask imposed by the community? Beauty and youthfulness," he questioned sharply, "are ideals coveted by many. But are these standards not manifestations of social pressures rather than genuine well-being? And thus," he clarified with determination, "the body becomes a battleground, where a struggle for identity, acceptance, and authenticity is fought. In this battle, they may discover that true freedom lies in the ability to define themselves, beyond the expectations imposed by society. Let them surrender to me and allow me the opportunity to taste the pleasures of their bodies, if they so despise their corporeality, I will excite and stimulate it," he claimed drunkenly.
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In a sigh imbued with unease, he expressed: "It is a biological machine, yes, but is everything reduced to that? Evolution has extended its roots to the core of my being, altering not only my flesh and bone, but also my perception of reality.” He moved around the room, each step resonating like an echo in the void, each word a caress to the air pregnant with questions. "Plastic surgery and my continuous metamorphosis into fog, wolves or bats do not differ... all promise an improvement, a transfiguration. But, improvement for whom? Transfiguration towards what?" He stopped in his tracks, contemplating his non-existent reflection on the screen of a switched-off device. "Is this the era of screens?, where does my body end and where does the authentic fog begin? Am I less human if my heart beats to the rhythm of a pacemaker or if my memories are stored elsewhere?" he muttered, mimicking, and with each question, uncertainty grew like a tree whose branches extended towards infinity.
"People spoke of the world of ideas, a perfect realm beyond imperfect reality. But do we construct our own ideal worlds, imaginary, more real than the shadows of the cave?" he asserted, then moaned in pain. "If I can choose my appearance, my gender, my species, my nature, what does that reveal about my identity? Is my body an extension of my being or an escape from my corporeal reality?" The weight of his being found no anchor, like a ship lost in the ocean of uncertainty. "Perhaps the truth is just another tool, like the chisel and hammer for the sculptor. But what form does humanity take when the chisel is rusted and the marble is the flesh itself?" The internal dialogue persisted. "What does it truly mean to inhabit a body?" he murmured, the question floating in the air, awaiting an answer that would never come, for he lacked a body and matter.
The intrepid vampire advances through the labyrinthine corridors of the castle, whose grandeur rises like a colossus of stone. The scant light filters timidly, crafting a mantle of shadows that sway to the rhythm of silence, concealing secrets in every nook. In this stage of mystery, an apparition emerges before his eyes: a girl with hair like the moon itself, whose strands seem spun with the light of the stars. Her presence, a beacon in the gloom, awakens in the heart of the bloodsucker an insatiable curiosity, a longing to decipher the enigma she represents. With steps that resonate in the echo of the castle, the girl advances with a grace that defies gravity, carrying in her hands a lamp from forgotten eras. Her wavering light is a whisper in the darkness, revealing the scars of time on the walls that guard her. And so, in a dance of chiaroscuro, the young lady approaches, each step another chapter in the untold history of this ancestral place. Upon reaching his side, the young girl, with a bravery that defies the surrounding darkness, addresses the vampire. With a voice that seems to caress the air, she formulates a question that hangs in the atmosphere, laden with a mystery as ancient as the castle itself.
"How do you find yourself at this moment?" - the girl inquires, her voice a delicate braid of sounds that floats in the air with the grace of an ancestral melody.
The gentleman's response, a murmur that fades into the vast labyrinth of shadows, springs from his lips with the coldness of a winter breeze: "Without any detrimento.”
A silence laden with expectations hangs over them, a prelude to revelations yet unspoken. But the girl, undeterred by the pause, continues her discourse, her tone marked by the shyness and curiosity that overwhelm her: "I have noticed that you seldom venture outside your quarters... Perhaps, we could explore together the secrets hidden in the most remote corners of this bastion, unravelling the mysteries that lie within its bosom…”
The man's response, although tinged with apparent indifference, reveals an underlying unease, a hint of caution towards the intentions of the mysterious young girl: "To what end?"
Although her voice remains tremulous, the girl's eyes radiate a resolution that seems to emanate from another world, as she articulates her response: "Behold... an invisible impulse seduces me towards the forgotten depths of this enclosure. I am fascinated by what the shadows hide. Perhaps, by uniting our spirits, we may succeed in lifting the veil of the most intimate secrets of your castle..."
At that moment, the gentleman interrupts his musings with an enigmatic serenity that contributes to the atmosphere of uncertainty surrounding them: "It is not my castle.”
In a fleeting moment, a sigh of suspended time, stillness takes hold of the atmosphere, spreading like a dense fog that smothers everything. At that precise moment, the vampire's expectations ignite, fervently longing for the young lady to utter new words, those capable of filling the relentless void that forms around him. His eyes then rest on the girl's head, gracefully inclined in a gesture of recollection, hiding desires as deep as the abyss itself, akin to shadows dancing in the twilight. Her attitude, an enigma encoded in the language of sigils, awakens in him a mixture of fascination and seduction.
With a voice that grazes the imperceptible, distant like the echo of a forgotten spell, the bloodsucker nods and declares with a solemnity shrouded in mystery: "Your idea seems to me to be correct. Let us proceed..." - his tone fades into the vast silence, leaving behind a trail of enigma and ambivalence, as if with his words he invoked an arcane spell lost in time. They begin their journey, advancing together to the rhythm of an uncertain cadence, like brave pioneers in unknown lands. As they delve deeper, he perceives how the silhouette of the girl becomes blurred, fading into the mists of oblivion like a fleeting apparition. An erotic and unrestrained sensation takes hold of him, desperately struggling to keep her close, clinging to her presence in the darkness that envelops them, an enigmatic tangle of shadows and sins.