The songbird greatly preferred the essence sprinkled and plaited amongst the gathered: serene, tranquil, affable, and amiable, swiftly turning to dance, to waltzing, to twirls and swaying belles, instead of ghastly bellows and ghostly trenches. She’d always wished, dreamed, aspired for the aurora inhabitants to interact amongst peaceful interludes and reposed hymns, resting in between the folds of equanimity and harmony, rather than scouring for the next triumph or conquest. Seasons past and cycles thrown, it would have been considered a grand, idle delusion, made for virtuous and innocent, ignorant and oblivious, but as she swirled beneath the heavenly abyss, she saw her ambitions had not been for naught. Amidst the glamour, the grandeur, the opulence, she spun a magnificent smile, drank in the ambrosial finesse, the predatory creatures turning to glorious, majestic fronds, dunes in the sand, beauty in the midst, striking brushstrokes on a midnight canvas. Absorbed, animated, woven and plaited into the sumptuousness, the nymph gathered her grin and placed it upon Roland, back and forth, molding her movements and motions in akin to his; watched and witnessed as her instructions were brought to life amongst a brigand’s quick footsteps. Her hum, rich and flavored, trailed down the back of her throat and out amongst each guiding breath, pulsating and pervading until the carols sauntered along the breeze and clouds, guiding, cajoling, whispering sweet nothings as the lessons morphed into easygoing gestures and well-placed footfalls. Petal soft and gracious, she bent with his turns, she shifted with his spins, she glided with his undulations, matching reticence with ease, pushing hesitant chords into mastered depths, heaving somber notes into mellifluous gestures and hummingbird quips, pressing her elegant, nimble, lithe laurels into his gilded frame, joined for tender moments, then maneuvering away, harmonic, gallant intimacy. When he gained proficiency, capability, without complaint, without protest, without objection, a swell of pride, a fluttering of her heart swallowed the idle sentiments of her mind; her smile widened, and she added another step to his repertoire. Her maw ghosted less and less across his shoulders, until it was a forgotten siren, patterned and peppered long ago, the better he became, the more she backed away and bestowed his efforts with another motion, increasing the tempo, the bolero, the minuet. Only when a gesture required correction did she tuck her cranium beneath his nape and fine-tune the regality, slip under the arch of his neck and apply redirection, mixing her caress with a laugh, a giggle, an amiable stroke.

Then he asked how he was doing, so she grinned again, breathless and cajoled, tucked and curled her lips into a pixie pursuit, lavished praise where it was due, fairy eyes capturing, enticed, by his amused gaze. “Quite well! Were you teasing me, trying to show off, and surpass my meager talents?” She wrinkled her maw and winked, a passing light in the deity’s boughs, gaze focused on the others swirling amongst the land. The sylph had intention of snagging a piece or two from another’s composition, wielding it so she and the Thief could perform it, test his predilection, glossing over the tactful frames and the bowing convention. She started again, eager and delighted, trusting in her sprite air, “Do you think you could-“, but ceased when a forbidding essence stomped, collided, and abruptly entered the soiree.

The horrific noise was first, then the battering apprehension coiled down her spine and through her limbs, terrifying and bestial, a carnivore’s gaze rippling and rankling over their gathered forces. A stag, chased by demons, mauled by monsters, stumbling, bumbling, blinded by pain, by agony, once king and mighty, now felled and alone. For a few moments, there’s no hesitation in her motions – despite the frightening inclinations, she was a courageous soul amongst heathens and infidels – pushing her frame in front of Roland’s, a protective, valorous fey with no guidance towards the tyrannical ongoing. Like all of them, she’s helpless and wanton with desire to help (or flee, her feet immobile, frozen), but sorely lacking in the knowledge, in the musing, of the transpiring shapes and figures, how to lend assuaging and soothing tones, tunes, as another bestial frame ravaged and destroyed a blessed creature. In an instant, the scene reset, bellowed one last twisted, feral, savage, and sinister moniker, corpse swindled into the nocturnal affair, and her body left to process the strange, cruel images. Her words fumbled, felt strange and foreign across her tongue, stare only inclining towards the other inhabitants, and then to Roland, by the look on his face, he too had seen the frightening debacle. “What was…” Lena was punctured and pierced into silence, either by fear or ignorance, bowing her head towards where the body had last fallen, feeling neither blessed nor content any longer, as if the ghostly entrails had undone all of the beautiful tracings and trappings; a celebration scorched and blistered with augured tension.


@[Roland]