Amore Devoror
Frame II
BMVT IV.1
“Religion isn't the opium of the people, love is.”
I poured you out to heal the wound I made —
the cure was mine; so was the blade.
Two moths circle a single flame where doves would perch, one already burning — devotion mistaken for peace. He holds the axis with a scythe upright, dressed for an older century, his face replaced by a heart rendered as wet tissue rather than smooth leather, split down its center as though torn rather than worn. At his feet, a disembodied hand pours liquid onto a pierced heart, meaning to heal it. The fracture lives exactly where the liquid meets the wound — the one place in the frame that refuses to resolve, because the cure and the wound share the same hand. After the emblem tradition of 1624.