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theredsuzuran · 3 years

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Muzan x reader ~ Lily

This is a song fanfiction on the song Lily by Alan Walker, k-391 and Emelie hollow. This story is inspired by the Japanese legend of yamato no orochi. I might do a second part as well. It's my first ever fanfiction so please excuse my mistakes.

Warning : mention of slight gore and blood

Enjoy

Lily was a little girl

Every decade on the night of full moon the first born female child of (L/n) clan are sent as bride to a powerful demon named Akai lurking on the mountain of Akakura which was believed to be inhabited by oni from ancient times. Your great grandfather and his then pregnant wife was attacked by that demon although on their constant begging and vows of servicing to the demon he spared their lives but on one condition that was they needed to send him one girl from their household every decade on this very full moon night. Your sisters and aunts, who you never get to see were presented to that oni. You being the oldest daughter of your family was nominated as the bride this year.

Afraid of the big wide world

When you first get to know about this, you were absolutely terrified and angry of the idea to be separated from your parents and siblings in order to serve your duty as a bride to that potentially harmful demon who you knew would devour you as you never saw any of your elder sisters or aunts come back therefore it was nothing but a human sacrifice in your judgment and being a child it horrified you, often causing nightmares of the said demon. From a very tender age you were brainwashed that the outside world was a dangerous place and it consists of unknown creatures lurking around the earth's surface with the sole purpose of causing grave harm to people. Being a child you were easily convinced but as you grew older your curiosity got the best of you as well as the urge for understanding the outside world became a necessity.

She grew up within her castle walls

Now and then she tried to run

And then on the night with the setting sun

She went in the woods away

So afraid, all alone.

As a child most of the time you were confined inside the four walls of your room, you were not allowed to go out unless required. There were servants who tended you day and night. It was necessary because the child for the sacrifice should be flawless in every aspect and most importantly healthy or else great catastrophe would fell upon your family. Sometimes you wish you were a sick person. That doesn't mean you didn't try to run away from home. Every now and then you tried escaping from your residence and one time during sunset you were successful in escaping, that was for the first time you went out from your house, you ran miles and miles away, bare foot. For the first time in life you were so far away from home you never imagined this day might come. The softness of the green grass beneath your feet, the fresh air lingering in the atmosphere made your heart giddy. As you stopped running for a while you encountered the sight of a city in which there were lots of people gathering around the street, both men, women and children of your age wearing lavish clothing and accessories, you have zero social interaction skills, servents being an exception even your parents also were not available all the time, on top of that you were timid and young, this overwhelming crowd of unknown people startled you which was honestly frightening but you were determined. Therefore you brush off your worries in order to explore the city, you were happened to be in the middle of a festival, which you seem to know since your servants who served under (L/n) family often talk about such festivals obviously they are not allowed to discuss such things infront of you but somehow you managed to eavesdrop and acquire information. Festivals are truly majestic, it was way better than the stories you have heard from the maids at your residence. It was colourful, lively, cheerful, loud nothing like the world you are used to see. There were various stalls consisting of items like jewelry, cloths that are being displayed on the street, on both sides of the road. The the smell of hot dishes like yakisoba, Takoyaki and ikayaki from different stalls hitting your nostrils making your mouth watery. As you were wandering around aimlessly, admiring the lighting and beauty of the festival, you bumped into a bunch of drunk men, you quickly turned away to apologize but a man with rough demeanor pulled your arm and started throwing curses at your way which definitely made you uncomfortable as you looked around to ask for help but none of them responded or came to your aid.

"look where you walking, brat!"

"I am sorry, please forgive me" you were not accustomed to such rude behavior as your maids and servants and even your family members were gentle towards you which was likely because you came from a very wealthy family. Which was quite visible by those men by the way you dressed, expensive (f/c) kimono wrapped around your figure made with the finest silk in the country and the gold hair pin tucked in your smooth (h/c) hair.

They warned her, don't go there

There's creatures who are hiding in the dark.

"What's with the hurry miss, join us for a bit?" With that said from the other guy, your eyes widened, you tried your best not to cry, they warned me your mind started to race with the worst case scenario as you started to remind your parents word about the outside world but you came back to your senses as they yanked you down the alley. Your heartbeat increasing rapidly, sweat covering your (s/c) countenance, your mind was going blank but you snapped out from your thoughts as you noticed the man's arm closed to your face without wasting any time you bit the man harshly causing him to drop your hand, taking advantage of that situation you ran towards the opposite direction earning screams and curses from behind. You didn't try looking back but you knew they were chasing you from behind. You stumble across the way as never in your life you ran so fast and somehow manage to get into the wood. Being exhausted and breathless you collapsed onto the ground. The sound of footsteps growing lounder as they were approaching you, tears stared to form up in your face am I going to die?

"Found you kitten" one of the drunkards chasing you commented, grabbing a handful of your (h/l)(h/c) hair roughly, lifting you up from the ground, then he took out a knife from his pocket and brought that near your neck in order to create a minor cut which begun bleeding instantly. You screamed in pain but no words came out from your mouth, you felt completely defeated and tired. There was no hope. You felt as if you were going to die but you didn't want to. Yet.

Then something came creeping

It told her, don't you worry just-

Suddenly rustling of leaves and bushes were heard from afar which caught you and the rest suprised.

"Who's there?" The man holding you shouted but complete silence was observed. This pissed off the man even more and he shouted angrily this time with more intensity.

"Come out or I will kill this girl in this instance" no sooner did the words left the man's mouth than he saw you were out of his sight and standing before him was a slender pale man in his late twenties having remarkable dark curly hair and plum red eyes contrasting his features sharply. He was holding you firmly but gently in his arm.

"How did you-"

You saw his eyes glowing under the moonlight pointing directly towards those men, his glare was deadly and menacing which could make anyone fall on their knees. One of the men began to charge towards you but his attempt went futile because the man holding you kicked the man with such immense strength that he went flying over the air and died a painful death crashing loudly against the ground snapping his neck in the process. The other man in feat of pure rage tried to punch that mysterious man but his head exploded due to the pressure of that raven hair blocking his attack. The other man who watched all of that fainted. It was a gruesome scene for you to witness but you tried your best not to cry because the man infront of you just saved your life.

"Thank you mister for saving my life, I thought I was going to die if it were not you I'd be dead, I appreciate your help" your voice still shaking, you lowered your head and then look up for the first time his red orbs met your (e/c) ones. The moonlight reflected through the branches of the trees made you see his face clearly, you have not interacted with men before except your father, siblings and uncles so being closed with a man this handsome made you a little nervous. You could feel your blood rush through your cheeks. Seeing you nervous made him chuckle slightly, he gently put you down on the ground from his arm.

Follow everywhere I go

"A young girl like you should not be roaming around in the woods late at night, there are a lot of people and creatures having full intent to hurt fragile beings like yourself" he spoke to you with his calm, monotonous voice.

"Yes you are right mister and I apologize for causing you trouble but I really needed to come out" you replied with a soft hum. Which made that man curious.

"Is that so? What's your name child?"

"My name is (y/n)(l/n), and yours?"

"Muzan kibutsuji"

A perfect chance for him to devour this girl which was driving him crazy because of the aroma she was emitting, he can take full advantage of this situation, there was no way in hell this girl could protect herself as minutes ago she was cowering with fear and misery, how pathetic he thought.

"I was meaning to say this for a long time now kibutsuji san you have the most beautiful pair of eyes, it's very unique, I am glad to meet you" the sudden compliment coming from you widened his eyes. He have been living for a thousand years now both humans and his underlings alike are scared of him even his demons admire and respect him out of fear. All of them knew how ruthless, manipulative, egoistic and deceitful this man is but this girl shows her genuine gratitude towards him even though she is vulnerable and exposed. What a clueless human he thought letting her guard down to none other but the dangerous Muzan kibutsuji. There was pure innocence in her voice and glowing admiration in her eyes, gleaming with positive energy which evoked strong emotions in all his seven hearts that were stoned ever since he abandoned his humanity.

"Its dangerous for you to go back alone let me escort you home" the demon replied which you gladly accepted. For now.

Muzan held your hand tightly as the two of you began to walk out from the forest and enter the town again, talking on the way, learning about each other.

"How old are you (y/n) chan?"

"I am 13 years old, kibutsuji san"

"Muzan will be fine, (y/n)"

"Sure Muzan!" You smiled enthusiastically, you enjoyed his company as you were not allowed to have friends it made your heart flutter with an unexpected feeling of warmth. You wanted to clinge on it. Never in your life you felt so secure and content.

Top over the mountains or valley low

"Say (y/n), why did you ran away from home?" Muzan asked

"I don't want to get sacrificed to the oni" you replied with sudden drop to your voice. Muzan stopped walking and looked down at you with concern written over his face, he didn't know why he was acting this way but there was this sudden urge to keep you safe, the thought of seeing you suffer made him somewhat sick to his stomach.

"What oni?" He asked this time holding your shoulders gently, he could say you were scare to talk about this but somehow you felt at ease around him which you never felt towards anyone, you started to trust him even though you just met him.

"There has been an old tradition in my family for generations, every decade on the night of full moon the first born female child of our family is sacrificed to the oni living on the mountain of akakura for last 50 years, I am next in line that's why I was running away, I am not ready to die" you replied almost sobbing

Give you everything you've been dreaming of

Just let me in

"Once I attain the age 18, I will too be send to the oni as his bride" tears came rolling down your cheek, the demon lord can sense your terror which you were trying to hide. What a pitiful creature, I shall be your savior he thought to himself.

"You are a brave girl, I admire your inner strength (y/n)" he cupped your face with his arms, caressing your features softly brushing away the tear drop forming in your eyes.

"I don't know for how long" you replied smiling a bit. appreciating his effort to soothe your anxiety.

Everything you want in gold, I'll be the magic story you've been told

Everything was good until you heard your name coming across the other end of the street, it was two of your servants and your uncle approaching both you and Muzan. The look in your face suddenly changed to that of a drastic one, the slight flush which covered your countenance few seconds ago was gone and was replaced with a pale look similar to that of muzan's. It was evident to the demon from your expressions that it was rather unpleasant for you even though they seem to know you and by judging the looks of your uncle, he figured you two are related.

"Where have you gone milady?" One of your maid came rushing towards you, but you hid behind muzan's back averting your gaze from the maiden and your uncle. As you could feel an intense glare coming from him. Thanks to your uncle you are in great trouble now.

"My name is (u/n)(L/n), this girl's uncle, I apologize on behalf of my niece for causing you trouble" the (h/c) hair man said to muzan.

"I am Tsukihiko kibutsuji, Do not worry about that and (y/n) didn't create any disturbance" it would be a bit suspicious to you that why muzan lied to your uncle about his real name if he didn't mention he was a demon earlier when you two were conversing and he needs to hide his identity in order to survive.

"Thank you so much for your help, (L/n) family will owe you for this" he bowed to muzan showing his gratitude towards him while glancing at you with the corner of his eyes.

"You here young lady, I hope you won't run away like this you could have just asked our servants or me if you really wanted to go out that badly, you have made your mother worried sick" the man cooed directing towards you.

𝚕𝚒es you thought You'd never let me go out, you are only behaving nicely because of muzan.

"(Y/n)" the soothing voice hit your ears and you looked up to see muzan "you must go back home, as your uncle stated they must be really worried, right?"

You felt really defeated but you decided to let go of him, he already saved you from a great disaster. It would be selfish of you to ask for more but you really hoped he'd help. Before you headed back you asked turning your head back at his direction.

And you'll be safe under my control

"We will still be friends right?" Muzan was taken aback friends? He thought a genuine smile appearing on his face. He nodded at you which made you sigh with relief and then you waved goodbye to him in the hope of seeing him again someday, your first friend.

"Yes (y/n), we will meet again"

Just let me in, ooh.

#kimetsu no yaiba #muzan kibutsuji #kny muzan #muzan x reader #fanfic #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #demon lord #demon x reader #anime

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new2otomelol · 6 years

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KBTBB - Broken Bird - Part 3

Thanks to those following this story :-) Please excuse my typos. Same disclaimers as before. Voltage owns the rights to its characters. I created Luna. Please note there are trigger warnings: rape, abuse.

BIDDER’s POV

Soryu rushes out of Luna’s room filled with anger and disgust. Once he reaches the living room he quickly takes out his cell phone and dials Inui - “Ryuun, did you keep tabs on him?” The other bidders reach the living room as well and remain quiet, silently contemplating on their next steps as they await Soryu. “Got it, make sure the bastard doesn’t leave. I’m on my way.” Soryu puts his phone away and heads towards the mini bar in the room. He slams his fists on the table in frustration and addresses the others. “That son of a bitch! Out of respect to my grandfather I spared his life and kept him far away, but, I just can’t fathom what other crap he’s done if he was capable of doing that to a… child.”

Eisuke places a hand on Soryu’s shoulder and tries to reassure his friend “there’s no way you could have known; let’s think things through.” Mamoru shakes his head and reaches for his relief, his cigarettes, and takes a seat as he prepares to light one. “Kid, ya’ know if you do that, you’d go straight t’ the slammer. There’s too much going on in our department that has the dragons in a tight squeeze. I suggest we do it differently. Let’s have our fun and let my underlings work him in.” Soryu groans in anger and faces Mamoru. “As much as I want to punch the asshole to death, you’re right. I have to take care of my men. I’ll have the guys bring him to us and we’ll take care of him from there.” Mamoru smiles and lights a cigarette “I never thought I’d see the day kid, ya’ actually agree with me.” Soryu suddenly shows a wry smile and addresses Mamoru once again, “of course, that means, more paperwork for you.”

Luke stands up and heads to the elevator “I’m out for tonight guys, I need a break from all of this.” As the elevator opens, room service brings a few trays of food in the cart. “Perfect, I’ll take one of these to Luna. When do you think they’ll be here Sor?” Baba asks. Soryu takes out his cell phone and re-dials Inui. “In an hour… Inui, change of plans, get Samejima and bring Ryuun to me.” Ota sits down on the couch next to Eisuke who had started drinking some Brandy. “I can’t believe what she’s gone through … I mean, I’m no idiot, I know shit happens to everyone, but it just …sucks.” Ota states. Baba works on getting a plate together for Luna and responds to Ota’s comment. “Trust me, many things happen on a daily basis, but the world continues to turn. Some people get help and others, well, they end up like Luna, or worse. But, she’s here with us and we agreed to help her. I’ll have dinner with her, let me know when they’re here; it’s time for her to face her demons.” Baba takes two plates of food and heads to Luna’s room. The other men remain in the living room waiting for for Ryuun’s arrival.

LUNA’S POV

I can hear the men talking down stairs, but I can’t understand what they are saying. What should I do? I can’t really move to escape and I feel emotionally drained. As I contemplate on a way to get out I hear a soft knock on the door… “Luna, it’s me, Baba… I’m coming in…” Baba walks in with a tray and a couple of plates. “As promised, I’m back with food.” He sets the food down on a side table and grabs one of the soup plates, takes a spoon and loads it to feed me. “Now open up, you need your strength.” I keep my mouth shut, I mean, I think I can trust him, this is just, so awkward and… ugh, I’m so confused. “Listen Luna, I know it’s been hard and you’ve been through hell the past couple of days. Just remember, we’re not going to hurt you in any shape or form. Please trust me… I… I was once an orphan and had to go through a lot… I didn’t go through what you did, but I can partially understand what you’ve been through. We all have pasts we’d like to burry. But what has kept us going is our support for each other.”

I sigh and decide to place a bit of trust in him. “Look… Baba, I’m not sure about any of this. I just told you all something that I’ve never been able to tell anyone… I… I tried to take my life in a desperate attempt… I’m sitting here, confused as hell…that man, Soryu, walked out angry earlier and now something is going on… can I just go back to living the way I was?” Baba puts the bowl and spoon aside and takes my hands. “First of all, Luna, that’s no way to live, just a way to survive… the fact that you’re letting me this close to you and to touch you means you trust me a bit more. So please, this will take baby steps, but I need you to promise me a few things, right here and now… now repeat after me: I will NEVER try to take my life again… say it and mean it” I guess I have just been surviving all along… what have I got to lose now? “I… promise to never… try to… take my life again.” Baba smiles and continues “I will rely on others to help me…” I cringe at his suggestion, but he squeezes my hands and urges me on… “fine, I will depend on others for assistance…” He smiles at me. “Now, say… I am beautiful…” I sigh and roll my eyes at Baba “Really? Can’t I just leave it at that? Isn’t that enough progress for one night?” Baba laughs and urges me on “come on Luna… do it for me… later on, you’ll see that you truly are…” I take a deep breath and say it a little bit sarcastically “I am beautiful… happy?” He smiles, lets go of my hands and resumes trying to feed me. “Now come on, just try and eat a little…”

I oblige and eat a few bites. “Now, listen Luna. I need you to be strong for me tonight. My buddies and I don’t ever think that it is right for a man to force himself on a woman, much less a child. You see, Soryu left upset because when you mentioned that man’s name, he knew immediately who you were talking about.” My heart starts beating fast and my hands begin to sweat. “Wh… what do you mean… he knows?” Baba gives me a sad look and puts the food aside. “Listen Luna, Ryuun use to be the head of the Ice Dragons” I interrupt him … “u… used to be?” he nods and continues “yes, he is a cruel man and Soryu ran him off his position and took over because of a lot of compromising things he was doing to the dragons. Now that Soryu is in charge, the dragons have been more of a help to people… Luna, he was upset because he let that trash live…”

It seems as if the world is spinning before me and I begin to breathe rapidly again. “No, no, no… Luna, listen to me, it’s okay, breathe, calm down… you’re here with me…” I steady myself and look into Baba’s eyes. “B… but, how? Can I really trust that man? Soryu? I… I…” Baba smiles and holds my hands tightly. “Yes, you can. He’s got better morals than most of us and does not believe in ever laying a hand on a woman. Have faith in us, if not, have faith in me.” I steady my breathing and try and relax back on my bed again. “I am trying to… it’s just going to take me time. One thing is for sure Baba, I can’t live like this anymore, the fear, the hate, it’s consuming me.” Baba gives me a warm smile and gives me advice that I wish I could have heard earlier in my life. “Forgive it all, forgive those that hurt you, not for them, but for yourself; then, you have to learn to let go and put it behind you. No, you will never forget, but you will over-come it. You said it yourself the other night, you refuse to be a victim, then don’t be one.”

I sit there in silence and reflect on Baba’s words. How can I forgive? How can anyone for that matter? But, I just can’t deal with it any longer, it’s taken so many years of my life. Father, you took my childhood away; you taught me to live a life of fear; mother, you lived in fear all your life and couldn’t do anything to help me. That man, Ryuun, took my virtue, but most importantly my sense of security and almost my sanity and I, I almost took my life. By the Gods, give me strength, please. I take a deep breath and close my eyes; I focus all of the pain, hurt, anger and loneliness and visualize it. I then exhale and imagining it leaving me. I open my eyes feeling determined and once again tighten my hold on Baba’s hands and gaze into his eyes. “Baba, I do. I forgive everything, starting with my parents, that man and myself. I will work on this every day, I promise you.” Baba smiles and hesitates for a moment “Is it alright if I give you a hug?” Tears roll down my eyes once again. “Yes, please do.” I received the second hug in my life and for once enjoyed someone else’s warmth and relished in the small sense of security he projected.

Thirty minutes pass by and I manage to eat a bit more of the soup. Baba stayed with me and told me a little more about his career as a thief. Apparently, he’s known as the ‘Great Lupin.’ We then hear a knock on the door and Baba quickly responds, “come in!” Ota, Mamoru, Eisuke and Soryu walk in, all with serious expressions. Soryu steps up to the bed and vows deeply “Luna, from the bottom of my heart, I apologize for what happened to you… I just…” I quickly interrupt him. “Please, Baba informed me, it wasn’t your fault, Soryu.” He quickly straightened himself and motioned towards the door. Two men walk in holding the very person I wished in my life never to see again. Fear and panic grip me once again and I immediately take a hold of Baba’s hands. “Go on Luna, say what you need to say…” I swallow nervously and look upon Ryuun, who is barely able to stand on his own as the other men hold him. The more I forced myself to look at him, the more I saw just how beaten and bloodied up he looked.

Ryuun lifts his head and notices me, his eyes widen and his face becomes pale, just as if he’d seen a ghost. Baba stands beside me and puts an arm around my shoulders for support. I try to steady my trembling and gather all my strength… “You… you forced yourself on me over and over again when I was so young; you beat me so hard that you broke a couple of ribs and did so many other things… you left me to die in an alley way…” he couldn’t respond because he was gagged, but his stare was that of pure fear... “you took away so much from me, but I’m here to tell you today, no more! I forgive you for what you did, but I will never forget… may the Gods, or these men do what they want with you; I will no longer let the past have a hold of me.” as soon as I finish speaking, Soryu motions for his men to take out Ryuun. Once he’s out of sight, my strength leaves me and I collapse in Baba’s arms. “Luna, you’re okay… look at me.” I focus my sight on him and manage to stay awake. “I’m proud of you! Now, get some rest…” He tucks me in and I fall asleep once again.

BIDDER’s POV

The men exit Luna’s room and head back to where Soryu and his men were. “Mamoru, do you have what you need?” Soryu asks as Mamoru goes through a large brown envelope filled with documentation. “Let’s see, we have collusion, murder, bribes, department connections, yep! We good! I’ll take this turd down town.” Inui removes the gag from Ryuun’s face and the man lifts his bloodied brow, staring daggers at Soryu. “You bastard, you OWE it to me to let me live in peace. Who cares about that little bitch?!” Soryu looses his composure, grabs Ryuun by the neck and slams him hard against a wall. “She was still a CHILD you bastard. You don’t deserve her forgiveness, much less to live…” He puts Ryuun down and pushes him to Mamoru. “Take this snake away, make sure the men have fun with him.” Mamoru smiles and grabs Ryuun by the arms “let’s go princess, we have many princes waiting for you.”

Ryuun tries to shake his way out of Mamoru’s grasp, but Mamoru has no trouble restraining him and pushes him into the elevator. The other men all get drinks from the bar and sit down to relax. Inui, letting his curiosity get the best of him, decides to question his boss about what just had occurred. “So boss, did he really do all that?” Soryu nods sadly and addresses him and Samejima “Thanks for your help you two, go ahead and take the rest of the night off.” The men leave and the rest of the bidders all sit down to relax.

“I’m glad she’s decided to move forward…” Eisuke begins the conversation. “Good job in getting her to open up this much Baba” Ota said. Baba smiles and puts his drink down on the coffee table. “She did the work herself, I’m just glad she’s willing. Well guys, it’s time for us to go and do our thing, from now on, she’ll be working with us.” Soryu had been rubbing the back of his neck to try and ease his aching muscles; the high tension he had felt had taken a toll. “So what now?” He asks the others and Baba responds, “now we take it one day at a time Sor, that’s all we can do.”

To be continued…

#kbtbb #kbtbb soryu #kbtbb fanfic #kbtbb baba #kbtbb eisuke #kbtbb mamoru #voltage inc

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ratherhavetheblues · 6 years

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INGMAR BERGMAN’S THE VIRGIN SPRING“Big, wonderful dreams!”

Now, as we open a third can of worms installed by the inimitable, Ingmar Bergman, we need to open our eyes to the seriously bizarre communication these films consist of. Unlike the catch-as-catch-can opportunities to turn a buck by fulsome cinematic and mainstream cultural techniques, Bergman puts to himself and his clients two simultaneous and contradictory presentations. Why did he work like that? He didn’t want to starve. And, moreover, he was obliged to maintain—with reservations—that the mainstream has much to recommend.

The works, in question now, introduce with silent-film-optics-brilliance, figures variously galvanized by the resources of the history of Christian assurance. Though the most overt aspects of the narratives very convincingly appear to sustain the integrity of loyalty to a Christian power, there coincides an ambush exploding the entire enterprise and mooting the uncanny ways of fearlessness.

The era when Bergman displayed such an impressive changeup pitch was perhaps less experimental and volatile than our own. But his assumption that he was on to a crucial singularity resonates—to those with advanced reflective skills—in our own millennium. The films, Through a Glass Darkly and The Seventh Seal, subtly found much amiss in insisting that strong but fabricated personalities could put one on easy street. In our film today, The Virgin Spring (1960), only a last minute convulsion cements that whimsy. But, all the better from our point of view, the drama concerns a very flesh-and-blood problematic, namely, distemper.

A devout farming couple (in medieval Sweden) sends off their adolescent daughter to a distant church in order to fulfil a clerical edict that a virgin deliver candles for the observances. She is intercepted by three goatherds who rape and kill her. The murderers, having heard from the naïve and smug girl how opulent her family farm is, pay a visit and—something the goats might have red-flagged—attempt to sell the victim’s expensive and now bloodied clothes. Her father beats and stabs to death the naïve trouble-makers. This triggers for the God-fearing parents a spate of fence-mending. The whole retinue of the rough-hewn estate is led to the girl’s corpse by an eye-witness. At that site, the contrite and grief-stricken killer looks upward and repeatedly addresses his Lord. “I don’t understand you!” Then he adds, “Yet I still ask for forgiveness… I don’t know any other way to live… I will, with these hands, build a church here.” The distraught parents embrace their child for the last time; and then they and their underlings submit to the mass hallucination (a couple of no-names from the staff bemused in accurately seeing nothing—as per the skeptics in the other two films cited) of a spring coming into force where the girl’s head had lain. (Hallucination being prominent in those two aforementioned films.) A young semi-adherent to paganism, who had been charged to see that the trip be a safe and happy one, imagines being refreshed by the “waters” and now becomes as devout as the others on hand.

I hope you can appreciate that this angle on the eventuation leaves a lot of questions. A close look at the film’s first moments can introduce a level of sensibility from which to comprehend what really happens here. We’re confronted with a ragged, swarthy and beautiful young woman, crouching over a fire pit, with arms extended. Very definitely, it is the coursing of the fire per se, and not the kindling of the cooking apparatus, which absorbs her. She exhales with vigor and with a sense of urgency, her cheeks puffed-out grotesquely. “Odin, come!” is her non-breakfasty wake-up call. She pushes a long wooden pole upward to allow the smoke to escape from a trap-door beyond the ceiling. As she looks upward to the billows she is filmed close-up from the floor, and the large features of her face bring to mind an early cave-dweller, more primitive animal than rational ruler. Moreover, her peculiar dance is unmistakably an expression of solitary anger. “Come to my aid!” she cries out. At this window of opportunity, she is fearless, a condition we know to be at the heart of Bergman’s constructs.

The screenplay is credited to one, Ulla Isaksson, whom the auteur commissioned to deal with a Norse ballad involving child murder, which caught Bergman’s eye at the time of his production, The Seventh Seal (1957), with its desperate traffic of medieval piety. Isaksson’s inhabiting the idiom of faith and her concern to set in relief the 14th century triumph of Christianity over the forces of the pagan God, Odin, would, in fact, be merely useful dilettante spadework for Bergman’s finalization of a drama concerning fearlessness and its slide to distemper (hardly a matter confined to the distant past).

The sensuality of that firebrand, named, Ingeri, gives way to the principals of the farm, namely, Tore, and his wife, Mareta, who start their morning being stalk-still, in prayer. Tore recites, “Heavenly Father, Son and Holy Ghost, with all your hosts of angels, guard us this day and always from the devil’s snares…” Mareta adds, “Lord, let not temptation, shame, nor danger befall thy servants this day.” In strong and ironic contrast to Ingeri’s commitment to conflagration, Mareta drips warm, runny candle wax on her hand. “It’s Friday,” she explains, “the day of our Lord’s agony…” Then she crosses herself, “So help me God.”

Instead of just distributing that stark contrast, there is a cut to an elderly lady, Frida, who presents us with a blanket filled with new-born chicks, delicate, beautiful and full of life. Holding one in her hand, she says, “You poor thing. Live out your wretched little life, the way God allows all of us to live.” Here, then, a synthesis tumbles our way—the “wretched little life” hovering toward the possibility of disinterestedness, with aspects of wild Ingeri and the calculators, in the mix. But life is not a sure-fire recipe, as Frida soon shows us why. Ingeri’s dance in the kitchen is interrupted by the seeming old dear, her colleague in cuisine, asking her in a harsh voice, “Where were you all night? If you don’t care where you sleep, you could at least come back for the milking… Instead, I had to run around on these poor legs…” Where did the “wretched little life” go?

We’re on track, at this introduction, to deal with, not religious wars, nor with bromides about improving the Dark Ages with prayer books; but instead with an addiction for eclipsing others and leaving them seen to be inferior. After her celestial entrance, Ingeri, about six months pregnant, flashes her enhanced profile in a bid to drive Frida to feel that all her chaste priorities have become obsolete, have come to naught. Just before that, her surliness elicits from the old semi-dear, “What’s wrong?” A far cry from her silent gambit, Ingeri very commonly, even old and obsolete, explains, “Nothing more than the usual—bastards beget bastards…” Not that Frida improves the tone with her spiteful, “Serves you right, the way you behave—spitting and snarling like a wild cat. You should thank God on your bare knees for his mercy. To come to a farm like this and stay in this house like a child of the family. But you are, and always will be, a savage child.”

The objective of personal power, bringing down upon many a blast of horror, derives from that patrimony of advantage, of seizing the upper hand. The proprietors, over and above their systematic prayers, have seen fit to be the only ones to provide the regional church with candles for the observances of the Virgin Mary. In accordance with a tradition that a virgin must carry the candles to church, the onus falls upon their adolescent daughter, Karin, to double-down the piety in that way. Whereas the parents are fastidious in consummating their secular and religious challenges, Karin has chosen to exploit the vantage point she was born to and thereby occupy a medium where she always appears paramount. True to form, she had been the focal point of the party the night before, the party also dear to Ingeri; and whereas the servant had showed up, the princess had slept in, leading Mareta to think of the only other virgin, namely, Frida, to carry the goods that day. Tore’s edict, “Go put some life in that loafer,” takes Frida off the hook, and Karin ending her winning streak.

The Virgin Spring may be bountiful in evoking the mysterious and perilous tumble of sensual energy. But it also shines in its dramatic dialogue (Bergman being a connoisseur of theatrical rhetoric, to the point where speech and its imagery joins that tumble). Therefore, we’ll track with some detail the distemper within the first family, whereby Karin seeks wedding garb for running an errand of piety. She is roused by her mother only by way of racking up lavish indulgences in apparel and cuisine. “I’ll wear my yellow dress,” she proclaims. And when Mareta reasons, “My child, it’s a week day,” the child threatens, “Then I won’t go.” Mareta fortuitously perseveres to an upshot of how superior the girl and her parents not only believe themselves to be but tolerate in themselves such cheapness. “You’re behaving like a little child… [but] I can’t be hard to you.”/ “Mother, I’ll ride to church with such dignity, and Blackie will raise his hooves gently, like a pilgrims’ procession. I’ll look neither right nor left, but straight ahead.” Mareta changes the subject, but not the nonsense. “This is not an ordinary dress. Fifteen maidens sewed this! “ She attempts to return to some ascetic territory, not enjoying the cross-purposes. “You’ll give the devil such joy. Angels will punish you with boils and toothaches…” She goes on to refer to her disturbing dreams and Karin counters with, “I wish I had dreams, too… Big, wonderful dreams! But I never do…” Tore comes by, and pleased by the glamor and glory, he exclaims, “I’ll ride into the mountains with this naughty girl and I’ll say, ‘I won’t have such a daughter… I’ll imprison her in the mountains for seven years until she’s been tamed!’”

The taming of Ingeri—chosen by Karin to accompany and thereby accentuate her own fabulousness on the road and to have the audacious one’s brain picked on the subject of intercourse—proceeds by her own volition, first of all (in being tasked to provide a meal for the princess) as to placing a toad within one of o the buns. Such childish distemper not becoming her fluency with the realm of fire. Abandoning, for the moment, the most revealing interplay of the girls in the first phase of the trip, there is the shining and appallingly brief (semi-) fearlessness of Tore. After killing the goatherds (who had displayed a [semi-] retardation of predatory appetite) and rushing to Karin’s semi-nude corpse, he dispenses with meek piousness and samples some fearlessness at the borders of power as he has come to understand it. He stands close to the stream which Karin had seen before being devoured by fish-like feeders (one of which playing a Jew’s harp—a factor recalling the Nazi touch by Martin, in Through a Glass Darkly; but here the bite is far more controversial, possibly at the basis of the often-remarked down-play by Bergman toward this film); and he leverages Ingeri’s account—he very likely being the father of the child—of that viciousness and guile to a point of serious rebellion. After looking to skies that have become efficacious, no longer supernatural, he smashes his face with his fist, kneels down and then falls over, face down. Presently, he looks up in extreme divided confusion and calls out—already, in this move, sliding away from a medium of efficacy—“You saw it, God, you saw it! The death of an innocent child and my vengeance. You allowed it to happen [here a fascinating disclosure of boldness clinging to a safety net, replete with his shaking his fist]. I don’t understand you [a close-up seen from behind]. I don’t understand you [the rippling waters actually going nowhere]. Yet I still ask for forgiveness. I know no other way to make peace with myself. I don’t know any other way to live…I promise you, God, here by the dead body of my only child… I promise that as a penance for my sin I shall build you a church. On this spot I shall build it… out of mortar and stone… with these hands…” The melodramatic stance, with legs far apart, and arms up to the sky, reminds us of Ingeri at her best, bestriding the cauldron and dispensing with verbiage.

Searchlit singularity comes to a bemusing crescendo in one of Tore’s marginal retainers, namely, “the Professor,” with a vaguely clerical baldpate head. He comes into his own in scrutinizing the little brother of those killers intent on doing even more damage, but being too dull to make the most of the occasion. That the kid-minding kid (initially ordered by his adult brothers to keep an eye on the body, but soon tagging along) has been shocked to the point of not being able to keep any food down presents no mystery to the master of inferences—he having already figured out that the dark night bringing no princess means she has been murdered by those operating along the route of the church and now partaking of Tore’s hospitality. (On the other hand, Tore tells Mareta, “If Karin doesn’t come tonight, she’ll surely return tomorrow… I know you’re worried about Karin. But she’s stayed in the village overnight without permission before.”)

A preamble to that seer (a country cousin to the Joseph of The Seventh Seal) involves Frida—she of the presence of affection and the language of affliction—denouncing our sharp but not sharp enough navigator. He carelessly teases her, “A woman like you no doubt needs a confessional close at hand.” And she pushes back, “Says the man who had to flee the country to save his hide… I know all about you, Professor…” He shoots back, “A bird on the wing finds something, while those who sit still only find death. I’ve seen both women and churches…” (Frida brightens up at the prospect of learning more about religious edifices. “What were the churches like?” And he brags, “Tall as the sky. And big… Not of wood, but of mortar and stone.”)

But when the chips are down, the Professor shows that his reputation as a spoiler to sedate invalids derives from his having taken a deep measure of “a bird on the wing.” The sick and terrified boy is put to bed by Frida, and when she departs he takes over with his bass baritone baseline, to implicitly officiate the boy’s funeral. “You see how the smoke trembles up the roof hole? As if whispering and afraid [both fear and freedom conjoined]. Yet it’s only going out into the open air, where it has the whole sky to tumble about in. But it doesn’t know that. So it cowers and trembles under the sooty ridge of the roof. People are the same way. They worry and tremble like leaves in a storm because of what they know and what they don’t know. You shall cross a narrow plank, so narrow you can’t find your footing. Below you roars a great river. It’s black and wants to swallow you up. But you pass over it unharmed. Before you lies a chasm, so deep you can’t see the bottom [‘Hell is other people,’ has also been used]. Hands grope for you. At last you stand before a mountain of terror.” (Here the bird on the wing conflates to an interfering manipulation.) “It spews fire like a furnace and a vast abyss opens at its feet. A thousand colors blaze there. Copper and iron, blue vitriol and yellow sulphur. Flames dazzle and flash and lash at the rocks. And all about, men leap and writhe, small as ants, for this is the furnace that swallows up [the boy looks away in fear.] But at the very moment you think you’re doomed, a hand shall grab you and an arm circle around you and you shall be taken far away where evil no longer has power over you…”

What appears to be gross self-contradiction in that funeral sermon pertains to a duality with which the film is passionately absorbed. The short-lived fire of Ingeri and the rather long-winded but engaging metaphors of the Professor constitute an uncanny poetic life-blood, haunting, to those who have striven to reach heights. In addition to that, however, a curtain of inertia—demonstrated by Ingeri’s loss of grip and the Professor’s withering to clichés—intrinsically busies itself to foster preoccupation with others in survival action. We should take care, at this point, to more closely discover how Bergman evokes, with a horrific shambles, the bracing dilemma and delight of a groundswell often overt but rarely sustained.

One of the most felicitous cinematic portrayals of the endless struggle to harmonize between the two moments of creativity occurs in the course of Tore’s steeling himself to kill his daughter’s devourers. Seemingly needing to fire up his flesh by whipping himself with branches from a supple young tree (recalling the flagellants in The Seventh Seal, seen by notables to be deranged), he proceeds to break the trunk near the base. But in carrying out his effort to break the trunk, Tore becomes caught up in pushing to and fro the plant’s elasticity, a vivid metaphoric rendition of the work of balancing, countering overarching advantage, like the kills he is intent on. (That Ingeri, slinking back to the farm, goes on to accompany and assist his questionable motivation—preparing scalding vessels for him to shower nude—becomes an indicator of the “savage child” having capitulated entirely to the rapacity of advantage, getting things done without due attention to the possibility of that other, poetic accomplishment.)

The early moments of the ride to the church never reached by Karin present many rich features of those essential polarities being not and never effectively reached. Karin, the self-styled star, rides on a snow-white mare and sits in archaic, chivalric side-saddle, cosseted by the ancient airs and dances of a routed, effete and dull constituency. She sits barely touching her mount, as if messaging to the countryside that a hierarchy has come to pass. Ingeri, upon a dark, splotchy runt, rides using her legs but only faintly derives the gifts of the earthiness which the opportunity affords. Karin in the lead, they skirt a sparkling lake in the sun. The camera of Sven Nykvist draws back to reveal the vast hilly forests and skies and cosmos beckoning the girls toward a memorable treasure of travel. Karin gets as far as a pleasant song with that recorder and timbrel motif which accompanied the credits. “The little bird, he soars so high/ It is such work , such work to fly/ And over high mountains to spring./ The streams flow so merrily/ All under the verdant trees/ In springtime’s breeze…” (Here the billowy white clouds with wild flowers below accentuate the endowments of nature, seldom heeded.) Prior to this stage, there was the Professor accompanying the girls as they passed beyond the farm’s gate. He, too, was induced to song, the kinetic subject of which inclined to flattery and a premonition (of death amidst verdant trees twisting in an ambiguous breeze) ravaging lovely fruit. “So lovely an apple orchard I know/ A maid with virtues so dear./ Her hair like spun-gold does flow/ Her eyes like the heavens so dear./ The streams flow so merrily/ And under verdant trees/ In springtime’s breeze.”

Contrasting with the early field of fruition, Ingeri, in the sequel, gets her face slapped by Karin for teasing her about seducing at that party a young farmer in the hinterland (perhaps another of her paramours), brought into view as they encountered him in his pasture. (This descent into cheapness parallels the Karin in Through a Glass Darkly, being unable to regain poise after participating in an ill-conceived birthday skit.) Karin quickly apologizes; but the once fearless (implying disinterestedness) loner clings to petty advantage. “Don’t ask me for forgiveness!” From there, the dark horse, taking up a rather distant rear, doesn’t have a ghost of a chance. A raucous raven in close-up keys the next closure of Ingeri’s heart. Having come upon the pathway’s attendant to a bad crossing of the stream, Ingeri walks her mount and the beauty of that modest beast speaks volumes. Here, with her integrity in shreds, she cries out to Karin, “Let’s turn back!” When Karin refuses, the unstable outsider blurts out, “I’ll take the candles!” (melodramatic rolling the dice being a symptom of shallow desperation). Karin, being the stable one for the time being, finding some backbone in light of another’s cowardice, offers a glimpse of how volatile, how kinetically challenging, one’s emotional resources can prove to be. Ingeri does not, her gypsy looks notwithstanding, possess any capacity to foresee the future. Instead, her skittishness stems from a factor of her own failure to bring equilibrium to the firestorm of her sensibility. “The forest is so dark! I can’t go on!” Too much prose, advantage. Not enough poetry, disinterestedness. Karin, occupying a rare picture of daring and, thereby, caring, tells her, “Don’t cry so hard. You could hurt the child.” Then she shows some more of the aristocratic stream we all inherit, but have to live up to. “I’m not frightened. I’m going to church. May she [addressing the rough-hewn official] rest in your cottage a while until I come back?” Karin offers a portion of her large lunch hamper. “Look, here! This is enough for both of you.” Overwhelmed by an abyss no longer sparkling, Ingeri clings to Karin’s horse, terrified. “Did you think I was going to slap you again?” the one with the upper hand asks. When Karin is on that way she’ll need all the confidence and maturity she’s ever had, the bridge man asks, “Are you in labor?” Shaking her head, she replies, “Worse than that!” (And could Bergman, apparently fond of American genre films, have seen and been struck by the noir, Kiss Me Deadly [1955] and listened closely to its theme song, “Rather Have the Blues” [than what I’ve got]?) After the spooky old guy does some mumbo jumbo with bones and tries to embrace her as a pagan kin—a status she now regards as sterile and just another failure in her battle to engage “Something Big”—Ingeri, trembling, cries, “You have taken human blood!” She races away, the terror in her eyes and on her mouth showing that she’ll never be the player she seemed qualified to be, in those first seconds of the saga (the leaven of sensual lucidity gone forever). Before she ran away, the self-styled seer, presuming to be able to bring her around, declared, “But you’re afraid. You mustn’t be. I will give you strength!” During her flight to distance the seer, the conifers along the way have become a tomb rather than a take-off. The blur of her race through the thick woods affords no dynamic step forward, and in this she becomes a kin of that Wendy of Wendy and Lucy, in the box-car, with the trees flashing by and deadness prevailing.

Ingeri settles for commonness at the site of Karin’s corpse—a Karin murdered by way of her letting slip away that once-in-a-lifetime balance (seeing) she commanded at the bridge (a bridge to endless enmity, advantage). Ingeri had run fast enough to witness, from a hiding place, the rape and kill and desecration. The inert rock she held, and failed to use, would be her kin for life and for leveraging an after-life as an angel. That she had run afoul of shallow fantasy calculation coincides with the shallow carnal calculation of her own modus operandi which might have lasted longer in the secular fold, but with no real traction. During the squabble at the outset of the deadly ride, Karin tells Ingeri (who had lorded over Karin in experiencing the pain of carrying a child), “Then I’ll be married and mistress of my house with honor.”

#ingmar bergman

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